,    ..  : 


I 
I 


-X" 


LUCY  HOWARD'S 


JOURNAL. 


BY  MRS.  L.  H.  SIGOURNEY. 


'We  want  a  history  of  firesides." 

WEBSTER. 


UNIVERSITY 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FBANKLIN    6QTJABE. 

1858. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  one  thousand  eight 
hundred  and  fifty-seven,  by 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS, 


in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  trfbSstJRct  Court  ofthe  Southern  District  of 
New  York. 


PREFACE, 


THE  rush  of  progress  in  our  native  clime  is 
without  parallel  in  its  transforming  and  effacing 
power.  The  sound  of  the  woodman's  axe  yields 
to  the  hum  of  the  village  springing  amid  fallen 
trunks.  The  city  forgets  the  primeval  forest 
over  whose  roots  it  rises.  Every  generation 
takes  with  it  to  the  grave  some  trait  or  treasure 
which  it  might  be  curious  to  restore  or  useful  to 
cherish. 

The  inner  habitudes  of  the  last  half  century 
are  already  becoming  matters  of  tradition.  Yet, 
as  far  as  they  are  mingled  with  the  domestic  nur 
ture  of  females,  it  is  well  to  preserve  their  sem 
blance  ;  for  if  obsolete  as  precedents,  they  will 
become  points  of  historic  interest.  Those  ele 
mentary  details  which,  from  their  simplicity  or 
minuteness,  seem  to  need  excuse,  involve  princi 
ples  or  affections  which  have  given  to  New  En 
gland  homes  stability  and  comfort,  as  well  as  that 
affluence  of  virtue  which  has  enabled  them  to  cast 
freely  to  the  young  West  germs  that  cause  its 
wilderness  to  blossom  as  the  rose. 
Hartford,  Conn.,  Sept.  1st,  1857. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL 


Wednesday,  August  1st,  1810. 

THEY  have  given  me  a  nice  blank-book  for  a 
journal.  I've  written  my  name  and  the  date  as 
well  as  I  possibly  could.  What  more  to  put  in 
it  I'm  sure  I  don't  know. 


The  schoolmistress  says  we  must  all  keep  jour 
nals.  She  gives  several  good  reasons  for  it.  But 
what  a  child  of  ten  years,  unless  she's  wiser  than 
I,  can  find  that's  worth  writing  down,  I  can't  for 
my  life  see.  I  think  nobody  would  care  to  read 
it  after  it  was  written. 


There  has  been  a  great  storm  to-day,  with 
thunder  and  lightning.  I've  got  nothing  else  to 
say.  I  wish  I  could  get  along  without  this  jour 
nal,  as  I  used  to  do ;  but  mamma  says  I  must 
obey  my  teacher  always. 


6  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Somebody  has  called  a  journal  a  map  of  life. 
A  rude  outline  I  am  afraid  mine  will  be.  An  ir 
regular  coast ;  an  island  uninhabited ;  Mountains 
of  the  Moon;  rivers  rising  nowhere  and  emp 
tying  nowhere ;  "  Great  cry  and  little  wool." 
Never  mind.  Let  me  try  to  do  as  well  as  I  can. 


I  had  a  grand  time  in  the  arithmetic  hour  this 
morning  at  school.  I  did  so  many  sums,  and  so 
fast,  that  my  hand  trembled,  and  my  heart  beat 
quick ;  but  it  made  me  happy.  I  do  like  those 
studies  that  one  is  sure  of.  You  have  only  to  go 
straight  ahead,  and  work,  and  take  pains,  and  all 
will  come  right. 


My  teacher  says 
"No  day  without  a  line." 
I  wish  to  keep  her  rule 
While  I  am  in  her  school ; 
So  here  is  mine. 


If  I  kept  school,  I  think  I'd  try  to  make  every 
body  have  a  good  time ;  for  if  children  get  mad, 
they  won't  learn.  If  they  are  very  cold,  or  very 
warm,  or  very  tired,  and  you  say  to  them  "  study , 
study  r  and  look  cross  all  the  time,  they  are  apt 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  7 

to  think  hard.  Then  there  is  no  doing  them  any 
good  till  they  get  into  a  better  mood.  If  teach 
ers  would  only  just  look  pleasant,  and  speak 
pleasant,  and  not  get  mad  themselves,  what  a  nice 
place  school  would  be ! 


I  hope  I  did  not  write  unkindly  yesterday. 
When  I  read  it  over  this  morning  it  seemed  just 
like  a  slap  of  slander.  I  am  afraid  I  did  not  feel 
pleasant  myself,  and  that  made  me  think  others 
were  not  so.  An  old  lady  used  to  say,  When  you 
complain  of  things  around,  most  likely  something 
goes  wrong  within.  I'll  try  to  carry  a  sunbeam 
in  my  heart  to  school  to-day,  and  see  what  that 
will  do. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 


Tuesday,  January  1st,  1811. 

Here  is  a  New  Year's  day,  and  my  birth-day, 
too.  I  should  suppose  I  might  have  some  decent 
thoughts  on  these  two  events.  So  I  have,  but 
'tis  such  an  awful  trouble  to  write  them  down. 
As  soon  as  I  take  a  pen  away  they  fly.  My 
strongest  impression  at  present  is,  that  it's  terri 
bly  cold.  I  was  half  frozen  in  going  to  school 
this  morning,  and  not  much  better  off  after  I  got 
there.  We  took  turns,  indeed,  in  standing  at  the 
fire,  but  the  wood  was  green,  and  the  sap  ran  out 
in  streams  upon  the  hearth,  and  the  chimney 
smoked  so  fiercely  that  we  all  shed  tears. 


They  have  sent  me  to  a  man's  school.  My 
mother  was  induced  to  believe  that  it  was  more 
thorough,  and  would  be  better  for  me  in  the  end. 
I'm  sure  I  hope  it  will.  But  I  love  to  be  taught 
by  ladies,  because  I  always  have  been.  I  am 
awfully  afraid  here  to  look  up.  The  gentleman 
is  said  to  be  very  learned,  and  has  not  been  long 
out  of  college.  It  seems  so  strange  to  hear  him 
calling  me  Miss  Howard,  seeing  my  name  in 
school  has  always  been  Lucy.  At  first  I  did 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  9 

not  know  who  lie  meant,  and  did  not  answer,  and 
looked  all  round  the  seats  to  see  who  Miss  How 
ard  was. 


There  are  twenty-five  of  us  scholars,  most  of 
them  older  than  I,  and  about  half  are  of  the  other 
sex.  I  miss  the  needle-work  in  the  afternoons 
very  much.  It  was  so  pleasant  to  employ  our 
selves  that  way  a  part  of  the  time,  while  one  read 
aloud  in  history;  and  then  to  be  able  to  carry 
home  a  garment  neatly  made  to  mother.  That 
was  a  very  great  pleasure,  peculiar  to  us  girls, 
and  it  seems  a  pity  to  lay  it  aside.  But  there  is 
more  time  for  study,  and  I'll  try  to  learn  as  fast 
and  much  as  I  can,  to  pay  dear  mother  for  the 
expense  of  my  education.  This  is  a  very  order 
ly  and  strict  school,  and  so  still  that  it  is  much 
easier  to  learn.  I  think  pupils  like  a  strict  school 
best,  and  are  prouder  of  it,  though  they  may  some 
times  complain. 


That  short  bench  of  boys  who  have  entered 
college,  I  wonder  they  don't  go  there.  Why 
need  they  be  studying  a  year  at  home  ?  To  save 
expense,  I  suppose.  Well,  that  is  praiseworthy 
enough.  But  it  would  be  much  more  agreeable 
A2 


10  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

to  us  younger  scholars  if  they  were  away.  Their 
room  would  be  vastly  better  than  their  company. 
Mighty  grand  are  they,  because  they  happen  to 
be  in  the  fourth  book  of  the  .Jilneid.  It  will  not 
be  long  ere  we  catch  up  with  them,  I  trust.  But 
the  worst  of  it  is,  that  every  time  we  open  our 
mouths  to  recite,  they  watch,  and  carp,  and  criti 
cise.  I  only  hesitated  once  to-day  in  a  long  les 
son  in  Philosophy,  and  yesterday  in  the  conjuga 
tion  of  a  French  verb,  and  heard  them  whisper  to 
each  other,  "There!  that's  a'most  a  mistake." 
It  was  not,  neither.  I  knew  what  to  say,  and 
should  have  said  it  as  glib  as  ever,  if  they  had 
not  been  looking  straight  at  me  with  lynx-eyes. 
Judges,  indeed,  they  set  themselves  up  to  be, 
without  any  jury.  I  wish  they  had  to  wear  wigs 
and  sit  upon  a  woolsack. 


I  studied  all  my  lessons  thoroughly  last  even 
ing.  I  repeated  them  after  I  lay  down  in  bed. 
I  put  my  books  under  my  pillow.  In  my  sound 
est  sleep  I  knew  they  were  there.  In  one  of  my 
dreams  I  thought  they  had  changed  into  grap 
pling-irons,  and  said,  "Hold  the  knowledge  fast." 
When  it  grew  light,  I  peeped  at  some  of  the 
worst  places,  and  said  all  the  easy  ones  to  my 
self.  While  I  was  dressing,  Memory  showed  me 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  11 

that  she  had  got  the  whole  all  right  and  clear. 
So  now  I  will  go  bravely  to  school,  and  that 
bench  of  Scribes  and  Pharisees  may  take  notes 
as  fierce  as  they  please ;  but  they  sha'ivt  have  a 
chance  to  whisper  again,  "There!  there!  ain't 
that  a'most  a  mistake  ?" 


I  hear  them  talk  a  good  deal  about  the  cold 
Friday  of  last  winter.  Some  of  the  old  people 
say  they  scarcely  remember  any  thing  like  it. 
What  made  it  felt  more  was,  that  the  previous 
day  was  unusually  warm,  so  as  to  make  the  dif 
ference  of  some  sixty  degrees  in  less  than  twen 
ty-four  hours.  For  my  part,  I  scarcely  recollect 
any  thing  at  all  about  it,  though  I  went  to  school 
all  day.  I  dare  say  my  fingers  ached,  but  I  forget 
about  it.  Yet  it  would  be  easy  for  me  to  remem 
ber  the  date,  if  I  wanted  to,  there  are  so  many  tens 
about  it.  For  instance,  on  the  10th  of  January, 
1810,  when  I  was  just  ten  years  and  10  days  old, 
it  was  10  degrees  below  zero,  with  a  sharp  wind. 
I  can  not  help  thinking  it  makes  people  feel  both 
the  cold  and  heat  more  to  be  always  studying 
thermometers.  I  reckon  it's  better  to  keep  busy, 
and  not  mind  whether  the  quicksilver  rises  or 
Mis. 


12  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL. 

I  do  love  to  parse  in  Milton.  It  is  so  enter 
taining  to  have  to  chase  after  a  nominative  for 
your  verb,  back  and  back  through  so  many  lines, 
like  a  needle  in  a  hay-mow.  Then  there's  idiom 
enough  to  keep  your  mind  awake.  It  would  be 
pleasanter,  though,  if  we  did  not  have  to  go  through 
all  the  descriptions  just  as  they  come,  with  those 
students  glowering  at  us,  and  amused  if  there 
happens  to  come  any  new  bright  color  into  our 
cheeks. 


Eain !  rain !  For  three  days  I  have  gone  to 
school  like  one  of  the  "  amphibia,"  as  our  Natural 
History  says.  Never  mind.  I  would  not  stay 
at  home  for  any  thing,  and  let  others  get  before 
me  in  the  lessons.  It  is  a  nice  way  to  draw 
the  head  of  your  cloak  up  over  your  bonnet.  It 
saves  that,  and  keeps  the  back  of  your  neck  dry. 
Mother  was  so  good  as  to  let  me  carry  my  din 
ner  to-day.  Several  of  the  girls  did,  and  I  think 
we  made  too  much  noise.  Then,  as  the  clouds 
grew  a  little  lighter  between  schools,  we  took  a 
walk  for  exercise  five  times  as  far  as  to  have  gone 
home.  I  wonder  what  our  careful  mothers  would 
have  said  to  have  heard  of  us  so  far  away,  and  in 
strange  places  where  we  never  went  before.  But 
it  was  right  pleasant  to  explore  new  regions,  and 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL.  13 

our  leader  proposed  that  at  present  nothing  should 
"be  said  about  it. 


Our  next  neighbor's  little  boy,  Johnny,  is  a 
good-tempered  child,  and  smart.  I  often  play 
with  him  when  I  can  get  a  chance.  His  mother 
said  yesterday,  "  How  awfully  it  rains  !  We  can 
not  get  our  clothes  dry ;  they  hang  flapping  on  the 
wet  lines  ever  since  Monday."  "  Mamma,"  asked 
he,  with  a  bright  smile  on  his  red  lips,  "  will  not 
the  rains  bring  out  the  fifth  leaf  on  my  cabbage  ?" 
So  he  was  as  happy  as  he  could  be,  while  the 
grown-up  people  were  complaining.  I  should 
like  such  a  little  brother,  or,  indeed,  any  kind  of 
a  brother,  if  it  had  pleased  God  to  have  given  me 
one. 


The  girls  have  come  to  a  conclusion  to  call  our 
teacher  Preceptor.  For  my  part,  I  do  not  exact 
ly  discover  any  added  glory  in  the  title.  But 
then  there's  a  good  deal  in  names.  I  am  sure  he 
deserves  all  the  honor  we  can  give  him,  so  faith 
fully  does  he  seek  our  good.  And  I  think  he  has 
an  excellent  system  with  us,  and  that  it  is  not 
just  to  get  money  that  he  keeps  school.  No,  in 
deed  !  He  tries  to  improve  our  conduct  and  char- 


14  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

acter,  as  well  as  to  make  us  recite  well.  Those 
are  the  right  kind  of  folks  to  teach  the  young. 
He  takes  pains  to  improve  our  memories.  Twice 
a  week  he  reads  to  us  from  books  of  history,  or 
other  sciences,  that  we  can't  get  a  chance  to  look 
over,  in  a  very  slow,  distinct  manner.  He  chooses 
such  parts  as  he  thinks  are  important,  and^  closing 
the  book,  questions  us.  Then  we  write  afterward 
what  we  recollect,  in  our  own  language,  and  show 
it  to  him.  He  corrects  what  is  wrong,  and  on 
Saturday  we  copy  it  fairly  in  a  manuscript  book, 
which  we  call  our  Remembrancer.  To  this  we 
add  any  other  recollections  of  our  studies  during 
the  week.  A  regular  omnium-gatherum  mine  is. 
At  the  end  of  the  year  a  medal  is  to  be  given  to 
the  most  perfect  scholar — I  don't  know  whether 
of  silver  or  gold.  The  pedantic  bench  of  wisea 
cres  expect  to  have  it,  members  of  college  as  they 
are,  and  old  withal.  Let's  see  a  little  to  that, 
though. 


I  wonder  if  it  is  wrong  to  write  poetry.  Some 
wise  people  say  it  is  a  waste  of  time,  and  that 
poets  are  always  poor.  I  do  not  wish  to  waste 
time,  which  is  so  precious ;  and  I  am  not  willing 
to  be  poor  and  beg.  But  when  any  thought  keeps 
singing  in  my  ear,  just  like  a  bee,  I  do  write  it 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  15 

down,  and  it  comes  in  rhyme.  If  I  try  to  drive 
it  away,  it  flies  round  my  head,  as  if  it  meant  to 
sting  me.  I  have  quite  a  pile  of  such  things  hid 
away.  I  hope  mother  will  not  find  them.  I  nev 
er  tried  to  conceal  any  thing  from  her  before. 


I  am  glad  I  have  to  knit  my  own  stockings. 
I  used  to  think  it  was  hard,  but  now  I  take  pleas 
ure  in  shaping  them  right,  and  seeing  them  grow 
a  little  every  day.  Besides,  I  am  much  more 
careful  not  to  hurt  or  lose  them,  since  I  know 
what  a  great  quantity  of  stitches  they  take,  and 
how  slow  it  is  to  knit  heel.  I  asked  my  mother 
to  teach  me  to  mend  a  pair  neatly  that  were  a  lit 
tle  worn,  and  permit  me  to  give  them  to  a  poor 
girl  whom  I  met  without  any,  and  who  has  no 
time  to  knit.  She  kindly  consented  ;  and  when 
I  saw  the  blue  ankles  comfortably  covered  from 
the  cold,  and  the  downcast  eyes  looking  glad,  I 
felt  such  a  lifting  up  of  the  heart  that  I  could 
not  help  saying  softly  to  myself,  "Thank  God! 
thank  God!" 


I  love  to  go  to  school  in  a  snow-storm.  It 
makes  me  jump  about,  and  feel  so  light  and  gay. 
I  am  not  philosopher  enough  to  tell  the  reason. 


16  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

A  school-girl's  party.  My  first  one.  I  doubt 
ed  whether  my  mother  would  let  me  accept  the 
invitation.  But  she  willingly  consented.  So  we 
went  early  on  Saturday  afternoon,  dressed  in  our 
best.  Entering  the  parlor  gravely,  we  courtesied 
to  our  schoolmate.  I  think  I  should  have  laugh 
ed  in  her  face,  but  I  espied  her  dignified  mamma 
seated  in  the  corner,  and  made  a  still  lower  obei 
sance. 

We  sat  upright  and  folded  our  hands.  We 
talked  about  the  weather,  and  the  babies  at  home, 
as  ladies  do.  I  longed  to  jump  up  and  play 
"  Puss  in  the  corner."  But  no  ;  it  was  a  party. 
We  looked  at  each  other,  and  thought  of  some  of 
the  tricks  at  school.  One  or  two  of  the  oldest 
giggled  a  little ;  but  that  would  not  do.  It  was 
a  party. 

It  seemed  longer  than  a  whole  day  at  school 
before  the  tea  came  in.  Two  large  trays — one 
with  cups,  cream,  and  sugar,  the  other  with  bis 
cuits  and  cakes.  I  never  drank  a  cup  of  tea  in 
my  life ;  but  it  would  not  do  to  ask  for  milk,  be 
cause  it  was  a  party.  So  I  stirred  mine,  and  put 
it  to  my  lips,  as  the  others  did.  But  it  tasted 
just  like  motherwort,  or  some  hateful  doctor's 
trade,  and  I  should  have  been  glad  to  throw  it 
out  the  window.  I  wonder,  when  I  grow  old,  if 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  17 

I  shall  love  to  go  to  parties  and  drink  this  horrid 
Chinese  weed. 

Just  as  I  was  wondering  what  to  do  with  my 
plate,  and  cup,  and  saucer,  not  being  used  to  hold 
my  supper  in  my  lap,  in  came  my  friend's  stately 
father.  Up  I  jumped  to  make  my  manners,  and 
down  went  my  bread  and  butter  upon  the  carpet. 
He  was  very  kind  to  us,  and  I  soon  forgot  that 
he  was  such  a  great  man.  But,  worst  of  all,  in 
came  our  Preceptor,  who  boards  there.  I  was  in 
an  awful  fright,  and  slank  into  a  corner,  hoping 
he  would  not  observe  me.  It  seemed  so  queer  to 
hear  him  talking  about  common  things.  I  expect 
ed  every  minute  that  he  would  call  on  me  to  con 
strue  a  passage  in  Sallust,  or  tell  the  genealogy  of 
George  the  Third  back  through  all  the  old  Saxon 
kings. 

Then  I  was  afraid  to  see  him  eat,  and  would 
not  look  up.  Methought  it  would  lower  him  from 
his  high  estate  in  my  mind  to  be  swallowing  food 
like  the  pupils  he  instructed.  So  much  above 
other  mortals  did  he  seem,  that  I  did  not  wish  to 
see  him  subject  to  their  common  wants.  But  he 
was  fortunately  called  away,  and  I  was  saved 
from  my  foolish  fear,  if  foolish  it  be  to  count  the 
teachers  of  knowledge  superior  beings. 

After  tea  we  took  a  polite  leave,  thanking  our 
entertainer  and  her  parents,  and  escaped  home, 


18  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

running  a  little  when  we  got  out  of  sight  of  the 
house.  We  arrived  at  sunset,  as  we  had  been 
told  to  do  ;  for  Saturday  evening  is  considered  as 
belonging  to  the  Sabbath,  and  kept  sacred.  Par 
ties  are,  I  dare  say,  very  nice  things  when  people 
have  once  learned  to  like  them. 


I  so  love  little  children.  Their  smiles  and  gay 
voices  seem  to  put  new  life  into  one's  heart. 
They  say  such  queer  things  too.  I  think  the 
wit  of  the  world  is  with  them.  I  know  almost 
all  that  belong  to  the  neighborhood.  One  baby- 
boy  I  like  to  hold  in  my  arms  when  his  mother 
is  busy.  I  stole  in  so  lightly  the  other  morning 
he  did  not  hear  me.  He  was  talking  to  himself. 

"How  do  you  do,  boy?"  said  he. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Kobby  ?" 

"Pretty  bad,  I  thank  oo." 

Learning  to  walk,  he  came  boldly  down  stairs 
to  meet  me,  without  touching  the  banisters. 

"Look!  see!  I  came  holdin  on  by  no  thin." 

He  learns  words  nobody  seems  to  know  how. 
Yesterday  I  stopped  to  speak  to  him  as  I  went 
to  school,  and  a  lady  came,  who  had  several  teeth 
taken  out  by  the  dentist  to  prepare  for  a  set  of 
artificial  ones.  He  noticed  the  change  at  once, 
and  fixing  his  eyes  on  her  mouth,  said, 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  19 

"Ma'am,  you're  a  natural  curosity." 
If  he  lives  to  grow  up,  I  think  he'll  be  some 
thing  more  than  a  common  man. 


Sunday  is  a  good  day,  though  I  do  not  find  so 
much  resTm  it  as  people  talk  about.  To  remem 
ber  the  texts  and  a  good  part  of  both  the  sermons, 
to  recite  in  school  on  Monday,  keeps  my  mind 
pretty  busy.  Then  I  say,  after  church  at  night, 
the  Assembly  of  Divines'  Shorter  Catechism 
through,  with  all  the  Scripture  proofs.  If  there 
is  any  longer  catechism,  I  wonder  what  it  is.  I 
stand  up  through  the  whole  of  this,  and  my  moth 
er  and  grandfather  wish  me  to  repeat  every  an 
swer  slowly  and  distinctly,  so  that  I  am  quite 
willing  to  sit  down  when  it  is  done.  It  is  a  good 
exercise  for  memory,  and  I  suppose,  when  I  grow 
older,  it  may  help  my  understanding.  Grandfa 
ther  says  he  could  repeat  it  throughout,  and  ask 
himself  the  questions,  before  he  was  as  old  as  I 
am.  He  has  not  forgotten  it  now,  though  he  is 
aged.  If  he  feels  wakeful  at  night,  he  begins  to 
repeat  it  to  himself,  and  soon  falls  into  a  sweet 
sleep.  I  should  think  it  would  be  far  more  like 
ly  to  keep  one  awake. 


20  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL. 

I  have  such  a  lovely  time  on  the  Sabbath  med 
itating  in  my  own  little  room.  No  one  to  dis 
turb  me.  So  quiet.  I_speak  to  the  angels, 
who  the  Bible  says  are  near  us.  They  do  not 
answer  me  in  words,  but  sweet  thoughts  come 
into  my  soul.  I  seem  to  hear  the  rustle  of  their 
wings.  I  speak  to  God  our  Father.  The  whole 
earth  is  full  of  His  goodness.  I  thank  Him  that 
I  live,  and  move,  and  have  a  being.  And  the 
blessed  Sunday,  like  a  wreath  of  love,  girds  up 
my  heart  for  the  whole  week. 


Saturday  afternoon  is  the  only  period  of  the 
week  not  devoted  to  school.  On  all  the  other 
six  days  we  go  at  nine  A.M.,  and  return  at  twelve ; 
and  at  two,  after  dinner,  and  return  at  five.  This, 
with  our  evening  studies,  very  pleasantly  covers 
the  time,  so  that  we  have  little  chance  for  idle 
ness.  At  the  close  of  every  quarter,  which  com 
prises  twelve  weeks,  we  have  a  vacation  of  one 
week.  At  first  we  think  only  how  glad  we  are ; 
but  at  last  how  tedious  it  grows,  and  how  de 
lighted  we  are  to  get  back  to  our  teacher  and 
companions.  Even  Saturday  afternoon  would 
seem  long,  were  it  not  that  I  have  usually  some 
necessary  needle-work  for  myself  or  my  mother. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNA 


This  afternoon  mamma  kindly  permitted  me  to 
join  my  schoolmates  in  the  amusement  of  sliding 
on  the  ice.  Oh,  it  was  so  exhilarating!  The 
pond  was  smoothly  frozen,  and  by  taking  hold  of 
hands  we  could  go  such  long  courses.  The  boys 
of  our  class  attended  us,  and  were  very  polite. 
When  it  was  nearly  time  to  go  home,  some  of  the 
most  mirthful  took  it  into  their  heads  to  run  down 
a  very  steep  hill  partly  covered  with  snow.  Down 
they  came,  rushing  like  avalanches,  a  boy  and 
girl,  hand  in  hand.  I  thought  it  looked  a  little 
bold  and  hoydenish,  though  Henry  Howard  press- 
ingly  invited  me  to  go  down  with  him.  I  be 
lieved  my  mother  would  not  approve  of  such  wild 
sports,  and  refused.  Then  one  of  the  girls,  who 
came  flying  past  me,  exclaimed,  shortening  one 
of  Pope's  couplets, 

"What  can  ennoble  slaves  or  cowards? 
Not  all  the  blood  of  all  the  Howards." 

I  thought  it  rather  ugly  of  her,  but  could  not 
help  laughing.  Then,  not  wishing  to  set  myself 
up  for  too  precise  an  example,  I  accepted  Henry's 
hand,  and  we  ran  down  as  swift  as  any  of  them. 


What  a  delightful  season  winter  is !  The  air 
is  so  pure,  and  every  body's  cheeks  and  lips  are 
so  red.  How  imperfect  the  year  would  be  with- 


22  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

out  it.  I  wonder  why  the  poets  need  to  be  al 
ways  saying  evil  things  about  it.  I  suspect  they 
mope  too  much  by  the  fire,  and  do  not  run  about 
to  quicken  their  blood.  Then  they  fall  into  the 
dumps,  and  blame  the  weather,  when  the  fault  is 
in  themselves.  If  we  wrap  up  properly,  and 
brave  the  cold,  and  keep  winter  out  of  our  hearts, 
I  suspect  all  would  be  well  enough. 


Our  Preceptor  says  there  are  many  kinds  of 
fraud  besides  taking  money,  and  that  one  of  them 
is  writing  so  as  not  to  be  read.  It  is  a  theft  of 
time  and  eyesight,  both  of  which  are  precious 
things.  Now  I  will  certainly  take  pains  not  to 
deceive  and  trouble  my  fellow-creatures  in  this 
way.  I  will  endeavor  to  write  with  a  copper 
plate  plainness,  and  not  indulge  myself  in  care 
less  chirography,  because  I  am  in  a  hurry,  for  that 
will  help  to  establish  a  bad  habit. 


Wednesday,  January  1st,  1812. 

My  birth-day  and  the  new  year  meet  me  at  the 
same  time.  This  double  visit  makes  both  more 
interesting.  The  girls  say  that  none  of  them 
have  such  a  grand  date  as  mine,  the  beginning  of 
a  century.  Yes,  on  the  1st  of  January,  1800,  I 
was  a  ISTew  Year's  gift  to  my  mother. 

Four  thousand  three  hundred  and  eighty  days 
and  nights  have  I  lived  in  this  world,  each  com 
prising  24  hours.  What  an  immense  stretch  of 
time !  More  days,  by  three  hundred  and  sev 
enty-six,  than  there  are  years  from  the  creation 
to  the  Christian  era.  If  I  had  done  all  the  good 
in  my  power  every  one  of  those  days,  it  would 
be  quite  an  amount  now.  To  be  sure,  in  my 
babyhood  I  could  not  have  done  much  more  than 
learn  to  live  ;  but  since  I  have  known  good  from 
evil  I  have  been  often  forgetful  and  idle. 

My  dear  grandfather  mentioned  me  in  his  fam 
ily  prayer  this  morning  so  tenderly  that  tears 
filled  my  eyes.  I  think  I  saw  them  in  his  also. 
May  the  heavenly  Father  whom  he  loves  and 
serves  bless  him. 

My  sweet  mother  folded  me  closely  to  her  bo 
som,  and  said,  "  My  daughter,  try  to  make  this 


24  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

the  best  year  of  your  life."    I  will,  God  being  my 
helper. 


I  heard  two  little  boys  talking.  Said  the  small 
est  one, 

"  I've  got  a  beautiful  house  to  live  in  when  I'm 
out  doors.  It  has  a  green  carpet,  and  a  blue  and 
silver  roof." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  other,  "and  its  builder 
is  God." 


What  a  hateful  thing  is  bad  spelling !  It  ruins 
the  looks  of  the  best  writing.  Our  teacher  (I 
meant  to  say  Preceptor)  thinks  so  too.  He  re 
quires  us  to  be  accurate  in  every  word,  but  helps 
us  as  much  as  he  can,  because  he  knows  the  or 
thography  of  our  language  is  difficult,  and  defies 
all  rules. 

Sometimes  he  permits  us,  by  way  of  reward, 
to  choose  sides.  That's  grand!  Just  before 
school  is  out  at  night,  two  whom  he  appoints 
come  forward  and  choose  alternately,  just  as  they 
please,  from  among  the  scholars.  They  select 
first  those  who  are  known  as  the  best  spellers, 
until  the  whole  are  ranged  under  their  leaders 
like  two  hosts  going  to  battle. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  25 

Then,  having  a  difficult  lesson,  each  leader 
gives  out  the  words  to  his  regiment,  which  are  to 
be  spelled  distinctly,  and  without  waiting  a  mo 
ment.  All  hesitation  is  fatal.  Down  the  dis 
comfited  one  has  to  sit !  The  leader  who  has 
the  greatest  number  left  standing  when  the  con 
flict  is  over  has  the  victory.  There's  sometimes 
a  little  boasting ;  and  I  suppose  'twould  not  do 
to  have  this  pleasure  too  often.  But  it  helps  us 
mightily  over  hard  places,  and  I  dare  say  that 
is  the  object,  as  a  driver  gives  his  horses  a 
cheery  chirrup  when  about  to  draw  their  load  up 
a  steep  hill. 


"I  wish  I  could  have  my  own  way  sometimes," 
said  one  of  the  girls  as  we  were  coming  along 
home  from  school ;  "  but  I  can't,  because  mother 
will  have  hers." 

"  Is  not  your  mother's  way  the  best  ?" 
"  She  thinks  so  ;  but  it  is  different  from  mine." 
"  Can't  you  make  your  own  way  the  same  as 
your  mother's?     Then  you'd  always  have  your 
own  way." 

"I  declare  that's  smart.  Why,  no!  Don't 
you  see  that  would  be  only  just  to  be  ruled  al 


ways  ?" 


What  if  your  were  traveling  in  the  new  coun- 
B 


26  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

tries,  and  did  not  know  the  way,  and  one  who 
did  was  kind  enough  to  show  you — would  not 
it  be  better  to  follow  the  guide  than  to  set  off  by 
yourself  and  get  lost  ?" 

"  I  don't  like  your  philosophy,  madam,"  said 
she  ;  and  so  she  ran  away  home. 

Now  I  do  most  earnestly  give  thanks  that  my 
mother's  will  has  been  always  mine,  and  that  I 
never  think  of  any  thing  different.  I  dare  say  it 
is  because  she  brought  me  up  so,  and  perhaps 
there  may  have  been  a  time  when  I  would  have 
liked  to  battle  for  my  own  way ;  but  if  there  was, 
I  can't  remember  it.  The  praise  is  hers,  and  I 
have  had  the  comfort.  If  I  were  thinking  how  I 
might  rule  her,  or  hide  things  from  her,  I  should 
be  miserable.  It  seems  to  me  one  of  our  greatest 
blessings  to  obey,  and  rely  lovingly  on.  those  who 
are  wise,  and  willing  to  guide  us.  I  would  have 
repeated  the  fifth  commandment  to  my  school 
mate  if  she  had  not  got  so  angry  and  flown 
away. 


A  neighbor  said  that  her  two  little  ones  were 
going  to  bed,  and,  looking  at  the  window,  saw  it 
was  dark. 

"Where  are  the  stars?"  said  one. 

"  Tired  with   shining,"  answered  the   other ; 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL.  27 

"so  ^he  cool  clouds  drew  their  curtains  round, 
and  they  went  to  sleep." 

"  Did  they  go  to  sleep  with  the  spirits  of  the 
just  made  perfect  ?" 

These  children  had  heard  their  father  read  the 
Bible  every  morning,  and  laid  up  some  of  its  lan 
guage. 


We  have  a  delightful  school-exercise  for  every 
other  week  instead  of  a  written  composition.  It 
is  to  collect  passages  of  Scripture  on  some  sub 
ject  which  is  given  us.  We  arrange  them  in  the 
order  they  are  found  in  the  Bible,  and  copy  them 
neatly,  and  hand  them  to  our  Preceptor.  If  we 
happen  to  select  one  which  does  not  exactly  be 
long  to  the  subject,  he  points  it  out  to  us  and  ex 
plains,  and  his  talk  is  like  holy  music. 

Each  one  tries  to  get  the  greatest  number  of 
texts,  and  we  have  a  book  on  purpose  to  copy 
them  in,  and  nothing  else.  Our  last  theme  was 
the  prophecies  of  the  coming  of  our  Lord.  I  was 
not  aware  there  were  so  many,  and  some  of  them 
are  the  grandest  poetry. 

We  placed  them  according  to  the  year  in  which 
they  were  written.  What  a  wonderful  descrip 
tion  is  that  in  the  fifty-third  of  Isaiah  !  It  would 
seem  as  if  the  prophet  had  looked  upon  him  and 
followed  his  life.  "A  man  of  sorrows  and  ac- 


28  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

quainted  with  grief;  despised  and  rejected  of  men ; 
led  as  a  lamb  to  the  slaughter,  and  as  a  sheep  be 
fore  her  shearers  is  dumb,  so  he  opened  not  his 
mouth." 

I  have  learned  that  sublime  chapter  by  heart, 
and  love  to  repeat  it  silently  to  myself  when  I 
lie  down  to  sleep. 


One  of  our  schoolmates  has  lost  a  dear  little 
brother.  When  she  came  back  again  to  school, 
looking  so  sad,  and  telling  us  of  his  last  sickness, 
we  all  mourned  with  her.  He  was  patient  in  his 
pain,  and  tried  to  kiss  them  when  his  lips  were 
white  and  cold  in  death. 

One  of  the  last  things  that  he  said  was,  lifting 
up  his  poor,  thin  hands,  "  Oh,  pray !  pray,  deal- 
Lord,  don't  let  poor  mamma  cry  so  much,  so 
much  /"  There  stole  a  sweet  smile  over  his  face 
when  he  left  off  to  speak,  as  if  the  angels  took 
him  in  their  blessed  arms. 


Owls !  Now  what  strange  creatures  they  are ! 
Faces  like  cats,  and  round,  unwinking  eyes.  I 
wonder  why  the  Athenians  chose  them  as  sym 
bols  of  wisdom.  Because  they  look  so  grave  ? 
People  may  be  grave  and  stupid  too,  I  think. 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL.  29 

But  I  never  can  help  looking  at  an  owl  as  long 
as  I  can  see  him.  He  is  so  queer  and  mysteri 
ous,  as  if  his  great,  fixed  stare  would  turn  you 
into  stone.  I  used  to  wish  to  have  one  of  my 
own.  Since  that,  I  have  heard  some  things  against 
them. 

I  guess  they  are  cruel  and  hard-natured.  They 
feed  upon  living  things,  and  are  greedily  fond  of 
little  birds.  How  frightened  the  poor  nurslings 
must  be,  who,  expecting  their  pleasant  mother, 
see  a  pair  of  great,  evil  eyes  looking  over  the  edge 
of  their  nest,  and,  instead  of  food,  a  greedy  mon 
ster  going  to  cat  them ! 

They  catch  mice — that  is  not  so  bad.  I  hear 
they  have  been  seen  flying  with  a  snake  in  their 
claws,  which  they  let  fall  to  hurt  it  the  more,  and 
then,  swooping  down,  clutch  it  again.  Perhaps 
that  is  one  of  their  plays,  like  their  cousin-cats 
plaguing  a  mouse  they  are  going  to  devour. 

I  am  told  they  can  dive  and  get  fish.  I  won 
der  at  that,  if  they  can  see  only  in  the  night.  But 
a  man  who  had  lived  where  there  are  many  said 
he  found  in  a  large  hollow  tree  an  old  owl,  with 
several  fishes  he  had  laid  up  for  his  private  eating. 
So,  if  he  provides  beforehand  for  winter,  or  any 
time  of  want,  he  is  as  wise  as  the  ants. 

Gray  says,  in  that  beautiful  Elegy,  which  I 
have  just  learned,  and  shall  repeat  in  school, 


30  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

"  Save  thajt  from  yonder  ivy-mantled  tower 
The  moping  owl  doth  to  the  moon  complain," 

perhaps  of  some  mischievous  boy  who  came  to 
steal  her  preserved  fish.  Who  knows  but  she 
had  parties  sometimes,  and  made  mouse  pasties, 
and  a  dessert  of  dried  serpents  ?  What  a  terrible 
hooting  there  must  be  if  they  had  ever  a  concert ! 
After  all,  I  wish  I  knew  more  of  the  nature 
and  habits  of  owls,  and  of  all  the  winged  crea 
tures  that  God  has  made. 


Our  worshipful  bench  of  collegians  don't  im 
prove  in  the  grace  of  humility.  At  our  usual 
Saturday's  review  of  all  the  weekly  studies,  they 
take  much  more  note  of  other  people's  mistakes 
than  their  own.  They  are  so  mighty  self-satis 
fied,  too,  and  boastful.  I  could  not  help  yester 
day  just  saying  to  them  as  they  came  out  of 
school,  "Va3  vobis ;"  whereupon  they  were  ex 
ceedingly  mad.  Drawing  together  in  close  con 
clave,  they  seemed  to  be  concocting  some  venge 
ful  plan.  I  hope  there's  no  branch  of  the  Inqui 
sition  existing  among  them. 


We  greatly  enjoy  our  Ancient  History.     In 
some  respects,  it  is  our  pleasantest  study.     Our 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  31 

recitations  give  so  much  to  think  about,  and  ask 
questions  too,  which  our  Preceptor  is  very  kind 
to  answer  when  there  is  time. 

How  long  it  was  before  men  learned  to  go  forth 
boldly  on  the  waters !  The  Bible  mentions  the 
ships  of  Solomon,  almost  a  thousand  years  before 
Christ,  that  went  to  Tarshish,  and  brought  back 
"gold  and  silver,  ivory,  apes,  and  peacocks." 
Siclon,  and  Tyre,  and  Carthage  were  among  the 
first  of  the  nations  who  ventured  out  upon  the 
deep.  I  guess,  however,  they  did  not  go  very  far 
out  of  sight  of  their  own  coasts,  for  they  had  no 
compass  to  guide  them,  and  I  doubt  whether  their 
vessels  would  stand  storms. 

What  a  grand  description  is  given  of  the  Tyrian 
ships  by  the  Prophet  Ezekiel,  almost  six  hundred 
years  before  the  birth  of  Christ !  Masts  from  the 
cedars  of  Lebanon;  benches  of  ivory;  "fine  linen, 
with  broidered  work  from  Egypt,  spread  forth  to 
be  the  sails." 

But  I  should  not  think  any  of  these  beautiful 
things  would  help  them  in  a  tempest.  They 
could  not  have  been  strong  enough  to  plow  the 
great  ocean  waves. 

It  was  the  mariner's  compass,  in  1322,  that  in 
troduced  the  world  to  itself.  Then  distant  climes 
knocked  for  the  first  time  at  each  other's  doors. 
Face  to  face  they  stood,  bringing  what  they  could 


32  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL. 

spare,  and  buying  what  they  wanted.  Then  com 
merce  grew  up  and  flourished  like  a  great  tree, 
shedding  golden  fruit  upon  all  the  nations. 


I  fancied  I  heard  some  talk  among  my  flowers 
this  morning,  and  hastily  wrote  it  down : 

The  Poppy  to  the  Violet  spoke, 

There  in  my  garden-bed, 
"  Stoop  down,"  said  she,  "you  noteless  thing, 

And  hide  your  homely  head  :" 
So,  then,  to  drink  the  sunbeams  up, 

Her  broad  red  gown  she  spread. 

But  lo !  a  beauteous  youth  went  by, 

And  laid  the  Poppy  low, 
Disgusted  at  her  sleepy  eye, 

And  at  her  flaunting  show, 
But  mark'd  the  modest  Violet 

Among  the  grass-blades  blow  : 

And  first  he  touch'd  it  with  his  lips, 

Then  laid  it  on  his  breast, 
And  then,  between  his  Bible  leaves, 

The  fragrant  flower  he  pressed, 
For  the  sweet  lady  whom  he  loved 

Of  all  the  world  the  best. 


We  have  got  just  the  queerest  little  child  in  the 
neighborhood,  and,  I  think,  the  smartest.  Her 
mother  died  when  she  was  very  young,  and  she 
lives  with  her  grandmother.  Both  of  them  were 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL^  33 

highly  educated,  and  have  trained  her  carefully 
from  the  beginning.  She  has  not  been  much  with 
other  children,  so  her  talk  is  like  a  little  old  wom 
an.  She  seems  to  have  a  great  idea  of  the  pre 
cise  meaning  of  words. 

One  day  she  was  playing  on  the  carpet  with  a 
book  of  pictures.  A  gentleman  said  to  her, 

"  I  hope  you'll  Tbe  careful  and  not  hurt  that 
nice  book." 

Fixing  her  eyes  on  him,  she  replied, 

"  Sir,  you  should  not  say  hurt.  Don't  you 
know  a  book  can't  feel?  The  right  words  are, 
You  must  not  injure  that  book." 

She  had  been  a  good  deal  annoyed  by  the  cry 
ing  of  a  baby  that  had  visited  there,  and  on  be 
ing  asked  if  she  liked  children,  answered  sharply, 

"Children?  By  no  means!  They  are  my 
decided  aversion." 

She  has  a  white  kitten  of  which  she  is  very 
fond,  and  a  doll  that  she  takes  great  care  of,  un 
dressing  and  putting  it  in  its  little  bed  at  night, 
and  dressing  it  every  morning.  She  was  told 
she  must  not  wash  it,  for  it  would  take  the  paint 
from  its  cheeks.  This  rather  troubles  her,  for 
she  says  "it  would  be  more  beautiful  if  it  was 
daily  bathed." 

Her  grandmother  asked  her  which  she  loved 
best,  her  doll  or  her  cat.  She  looked  from  one 
B  2 


34  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

to  the  other  several  times,  as  if  it  was  a  hard 
question ;  then,  wrapping  up  her  doll  n  a  large 
shawl,  as  if  to  prevent  its  overhearing,  she  hug 
ged  her  kitten  closely,  and,  running  to  her  grand 
mother,  whispered  in  her  ear, 

"  I  do  love  my  cat  best ;  but,  please,  don't  tell 
dolly." 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  would  not  for  the  world  hurt  her  feelings." 


What  a  blessing  it  is  to  have  such  health  as 
to  be  able  to  attend  school  in  all  weathers.     I 
fear  that  I  am  not  sufficiently  grateful  for  never 
being  kept  at  home  by  sickness.     What  we  al 
ways  enjoy,  like  the  light,  and  the  air,  and  the 
:  water,  we  sometimes  forget  to   thank  God  for. 
/  We  should  praise  Him  continually,  that  He  never 
[  forgets  us,  though  we  take  His  blessed  gifts  with 
so  little  gratitude. 


I  heard  a  nice  story  about  one  of  my  school 
mates  from  her  aunt.  She  had  been  accustomed 
to  hear  her  father  ask  a  blessing  at  the  table,  and 
to  be  still  and  reverent  during  the  exercise.  When 
scarcely  three  years  old  she  was  taken  abroad  to 
spend  the  day,  where  they  sat  down  at  a  table 


LUCY  HOWARD'S   JOUENAI  35 

loaded  with  many  nice  things,  and  began  to  eat. 
She  was  bountifully  helped,  but  did  not  touch  the 
food,  and  looked  wonderingly  and  sorrowfully 
around.  Something  had  been  omitted  which  she 
thought  necessary  to  every  repast.  Then  she 
said  to  the  master  of  the  house,  "jPeaze,  sir,  pease 
pay"  meaning  please  to  pray.  Perhaps  he  did 
not  understand  her  broken  language,  so  he  took 
no  notice.  Then  she  folded  her  little  hands,  and 
bowed  her  head  till  the  bright  curls  fell  over  her 
plate,  and  said  distinctly  the  prayer  that  her 
mother  had  taught  her : 

"Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep." 

There  was  silence  for  a  few  minutes  after  the 
baby-chaplain  had  done  speaking.  Then  a  gray- 
haired  man  who  was  in  the  company  said, 

"  Out  of  the  mouth  of  babes  and  sucklings 
hast  Thou  ordained  praise." 


The  last  day  of  the  year.  It  seems  as  if  a 
good  old  friend  was  going  away.  Many  blessed 
things  did  it  bring  me,  for  which  I  praise  the 
Great  Giver,  my  Father  in  Heaven. 


36  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 


Friday,  January  1st,  1813. 

My  birth-day  again — my  thirteenth.  That 
used  to  be  a  great  era  among  the  ancient  Ro 
mans,  who  then  gave  their  sons  the  toga  virilis, 
receiving  them  into  the  ranks  of  men.  I  do  not 
read  that  they  conferred  any  distinction  on  their 
daughters  when  they  reached  that  age.  For  my 
part,  I  should  not  consider  it  any  favor  to  be  hur 
ried  into  womanhood  before  the  time.  I  like  girl 
hood  better ;  for,  if  you  don't  have  as  much  liber 
ty,  there  is  more  chance  to  learn,  and  I  want  to  get 
all  the  knowledge  I  can,  it  makes  one  so  happy. 

I  wonder  if  I  could  not  find  thirteen  events  or 
facts  worth  remembering  to  distinguish  my  birth 
day.  I  take  such  pleasure  in  dates  and  corre 
spondent  numbers.  Let's  see : 

1.  At  thirteen  the  Jewish  youth  were  accus 
tomed  to  make  public  resolutions  of  good  conduct 
amid  the  prayers  of  righteous  men. 

2.  At  thirteen  the  garment  of  manhood  was  be 
stowed  on  the  boys  of  ancient  Eome. 

3.  There  are  thirteen  clauses  in  the  creed  of 
the  Jews. 

4.  Thirteen   states  which,  thirty-seven  years 
since,  formed  an  alliance  to  resist  British  power, 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOUENAL.  37 

and  bravely  persisted  till  they  won  the  liberties 
of  our  united  and  happy  country. 

5.  Thirteen  kings  there  were  in  England  from 
the  fall  of  the  Saxon  dynasty  to  the  forcible  ac 
cession  of  the  house  of  York,  under  Edward  IV. 

6.  Cranmer  was  thirteen  years  old  when  he 
entered  Cambridge  University,  a  good  scholar, 
afterward  an  archbishop  and  a  martyr. 

7.  Thirteen  years  was  King  Solomon  in  build 
ing  his  own  palace. 

8.  In  the  thirteenth  year  of  the  reign  of  Josiah, 
Jeremiah  commenced  his  prophecy. 

9.  Thirteen  cubits  was  the  length  of  the  gate 
of  the  grand  temple  described  in  the  vision  of 
Ezekiel. 

10.  There  are  thirteen  pieces  in  the  ancient 
game  of  hazard  or  bowls,  at  which  our  Indians, 
in  the  early  settlement  of  the  country,  used  to 
play  madly  till  they  lost  every  thing. 

11.  Thirteen  lunar  months  to  the  year. 

12.  Thirteen  to  a  baker's  dozen,  I've  been  told, 
but  don't  know  why. 

13.  Here  I'm  put  to  my  trumps  for  the  thir 
teenth  date ;  so  I'll  add  my  own  thirteenth  birth 
day  on  this  first  day  of  January,  1813,  it  being 
three  hundred  and  twenty-one  years  from  the 
discovery  of  America  by  Christopher  Columbus, 
and  twenty-four  since  the  establishment  of  the 


38  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL. 

government  of  these  United  States.  His  Excel 
lency  James  Madison  is  our  fourth  president, 
being  now  in  the  fourth  year  of  his  administra 
tion. 

May  Heaven  guide  our  happy  country,  and 
make  us  a  firmly  united  and  Christian  people. 


Methinks  I  wrote  somewhat  flippantly  on  my 

birth-day.     God  forgive  me  if  it  was  so.    I  ought 

to  be  humble,  for-  I  am  very  far  from  the  high 

standard  that  I  hope  to  reach.     But  oh !  I  am  so 

happy  !     This  world  is  so  beautiful ;  my  friends 

f  are  so  kind  ;  my  mind  is  so  thankful  for  the  new 

!   ideas  that  enter  and  flow  through  it  like  a  great 

well-spring  of  delight.     What  can  I  do  but  bless 

my  dear  Father  in  Heaven,  and  rejoice  in  his 

mercy ! 


The  class  in  Butler's  Analogy  having  nearly 
finished  their  last"  review  of  that  good  and  very 
deep  book,  our  Preceptor  rewards  us  for  attention 
to  it  by  sometimes  reading  to  us  in  Locke's  Es 
say  on  the  Human  Understanding.  He  explains 
it,  and  examines  us  in  what  we  think  about  it, 
so  we  are  obliged  to  fix  our  minds  closely  on 
what  he  reads.  He  makes  it  interesting,  as,  in- 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  39 

deed,  lie  does  every  thing  that  he  teaches  us.  It 
seems  this  was  a  favorite  book  with  President 
Edwards  when  he  was  a  little  boy.  I  suppose 
it  gave  its  character  to  his  mind  and  his  future 
remarkable  writings.  He  was  born  in  1703,  en 
tered  Yale  College  at  twelve,  and  graduated  at 
sixteen,  the  age  at  which  young  men  nowadays 
begin  their  college  studies. 


It  was  a  good  reply  which  one  of  our  soldiers 
made  to  a  British  general  in  the  war  of  1776. 
He  was  taken  prisoner  after  one  of  our  battles, 
and  carried  into  the  presence  of  Lord  Cornwallis, 
a  proud  and  pompous  man.  Looking  on  the  fall 
en  foe  with  a  frowning  brow,  he  asked  haugh 
tily, 

"  Where  is  the  baggage  of  your  party  ?" 

"  Out  of  your  reach,  sir." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  the  Americans  are  between  you 
and  that." 

This  is  something  like  the  spirit  of  the  ancient 
Spartans,  who  said,  when  their  enemies  required 
them  to  lay  down  their  arms,  "Come  and  take 
them." 


40 

Our  Preceptor  says  distinguished  people  almost 
always  keep  journals,  and  that,  to  feel  the  full  ben 
efit  of  the  habit,  we  should  never  omit  a  day.  I 
have  no  prospect  of  belonging  to  the  distingue, 
and  as  for  writing  every  single  day  in  a  journal, 
it  is  quite  out  of  the  question.  I  think  the  ad 
vantage,  if  there  is  any,  must  be  in  the  writ 
ing  part  alone,  for  to  read  the  daily  record  of  our 
proceedings  would  be  but  too  tedious  and  stu 
pid. 


We  often  have  company  in  our  school,  and  who 
ever  comes  is  sure  to  notice  one  thing.  By  the 
side  of  the  Preceptor,  at  his  desk  on  the  raised 
platform,  sits  a  pupil,  to  whom  he  turns  with  def 
erence,  and  sometimes  consults  in  a  low  voice. 
In  the  morning,  after  prayers,  when  he  reads  aloud 
to  us  the  Hules,  so  that  none  may  say  they  did 
not  know  them,  this  same  personage  pronounces 
from  a  written  paper  the  annexed  penalties  for 
breaking  each  separate  one.  During  the  day  he 
watches  with  Argus-eyes  every  misdemeanor,  and 
if  any  heedless  creature  leaves  a  seat  without  lib 
erty,  whispers  to  another,  etc.,  out  comes  the  cab 
alistic  pencil,  and  on  a  large  slate,  containing  the 
list  of  all  the  names  in  the  order  they  stood  the 
preceding  day,  down  goes  the  offender  in  the  class 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  41 

one,  two,  or  three,  or  to  the  bottom,  according  to 
the  degree  of  guilt.  The  scholars,  at  entering 
and  leaving  the  room,  must  "bow  or  courtesy  to 
this  remarkable  viceroy  as  much  as  to  the  Prin 
cipal. 

Now  how  came  they  to  this  place  of  honor? 
This  is  the  way.  One  of  our  daily  lessons  is  a 
page  in  the  Dictionary,  with  the  orthography, 
meaning,  and  grammatical  character  of  each  word. 
The  last  exercise,  before  the  prayer  that  dismisses 
us  to  our  homes,  is  this  lesson.  We  all  stand  in 
a  row,  being  called  one  by  one,  according  to  the 
order  on  the  Monitor's  slate.  If  any  scholar  miss 
es,  either  in  spelling  or  definition,  the  word  is 
passed  onward,  and  the  successful  one  goes  above 
the  rest.  Whoever  is  at  the  head  of  the  class 
when  the  lesson  is  over  is  Monitor  for  the  next 
day.  The  last  office  of  the  one  in  power  is  to 
write  the  order  of  the  class  on  the  large  slate, 
placing  his  or  her  own  the  last. 

Oh,  but  to  go  down  and  get  up  again  is  so  fine ! 
Good  scholarship  and  good  conduct  help  you 
along  mighty  fast ;  and  then,  if  there  should  hap 
pen  to  be  no  failure  any  where,  which  is  hardly 
to  be  expected,  you  will  be  at  the  head  in  twenty- 
five  nights  by  regular  rotation.  Yet  I  usually 
get  up  a  precious  deal  faster  than  that ;  and  then 
at  the  end  of  the  term  the  pupil  who  has  been 


42  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Monitor  the  greatest  number  of  times  is  to  have 
a  nice  book  for  a  premium. 

Whoever  should  continue  this  course  two  or 
three  years  would  stand  a  chance  to  know  the 
true  meaning  of  a  good  many  words  in  our  lan 
guage.  I  think  this  is  a  right  cunning  plan  ;  for 
though  the  orthographical  lessons,  going  into  the 
structure  and  root  of  words  as  they  do,  are  hard, 
every  scholar  is  fierce  to  learn  them ;  and  it  is 
quite  wise,  too,  that  the  magisterial  office  of  Mon 
itor  can  be  held  but  a  single  day.  The  power 
and  honor  are  so  great  that  they  would  puff  us 
up,  very  likely,  as  "Mistress  Gilpin,  careful  soul," 
when  she  went  to  ride,  would  not  let  the  carriage 
come  within  three  doors'  of  her  house,  "lest  folks 
should  say  that  she  was  proud." 


A  beautijul_legend-o£-the  Turks  our  Preceptor 
toldus  in  one  of  his  pleasant  talks,  where  we  al 
ways  get  instruction.  He  indulges  us  in  them 
when  the  business  of  the  day  is  over,  if  we  have 
pleased  him  by  our  conduct. 

Every  man,  say  they,  is  attended  by  two  an- 
onTns  right  hand,  the  other  on  his  left. 


When  he  does  a  good  action,  the  angel  looking 
over  the  right  shoulder  smiles  on  him,  writes  it 
down,  and  seals  it  with  rose-colored  wax.  When 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  43 

he  commits  a  fault,  the  angel  on  the  left  writes  it 
down,  but  does  not  seal  it.  He  lingers  with  a 
sorrowful  face.  He  waits  until  sunset ;  then,  if 
the  man  repents — if  he  says,  "  O  Allah!  I  have 
done  wrong,"  and  gives  alms  to  the  poor,  the  an 
gel  washes  out  the  writing  with  perfumed  water, 
and  presses  on  his  forehead  the  kiss  of  peace. 

But  if  he  does  not  repent — if  the  daylight  fades 
away  and  the  darkness  comes,  and  he  has  not 
prayed  Allah  to  pardon  him,  nor  given  bread  to 
the  hungry,  or  water  to  the  thirsty,  or  garments 
to  the  naked,  the  record  is  sealed  up  for  the  judg 
ment. 

I  am  sure  we  Christians  might  be  made  better, 
if  we  would,  by  this  Moslem  moral. 


It  is  an  interesting  tradition  of  the  ancient  As 
syrians,  that  Semiramis,  when  she  was  cast  out 
in  the  woods  a  helpless  babe,  was  surrounded  by 
doves,  who  pitied  and  cooed  over  her,  and  were 
wondering  what  food  they  could  go  and  get  the 
poor  infant,  when  a  shepherd  came  and  took  her 
to  his  own  hut. 

She  did  not  show  any  very  dovelike  proper 
ties  after  she  became  a  queen  and  a  warrior, 
though  Romulus  always  resembled  his  wolf-nurse. 
I  wonder  if  the  ballad  of  the  robins  covering  the 


44  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

children  in  the  woods  with  leaves  did  not  come 
in  the  beginning  from  this  old  fable  of  the  doves 
and  baby. 


Somebody  had  given  our  boy-neighbor  a  small 
bow  and  arrow.  He  was  perfectly  delighted. 
As  I  passed  to  school,  I  saw  him  on  the  door 
step  trying  to  take  aim. 

"  Whom  are  you  going  to  shoot,  Johnny  ?" 

"You." 

"  Me !  Then  you  could  not  come  to  see  me 
any  more  Saturday  afternoons." 

"  Well,  I  sha'n't  shoot  you ;  but  I  wish  Satan 
would  just  heave  in  sight." 

"Why?" 

4 <  'Cause  then  I'd  shoot  him  dead,  and  he  couldn't 
do  any  more  evil." 

Methought  the  child  had  a  patriotism  as  large 
as  the  world  to  wish  to  rid  it  of  its  great  enemy. 

He  had  been  a  good  deal  troubled  by  the  rain 
a  while  since,  which  had  kept  him  from  his  out 
door  plays.  His  mother  was  reading  aloud  in 
the  Bible,  not  long  after,  the  passage  that  speaks 
of  sending  rain  both  upon  the  good  and  the  un 
thankful. 

"I  don't  think  much  of  that,"  said  he,  inter 
rupting  her  with  his  commentary.  "  I  expect  to 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  45 

be  one  of  the  good  people  myself,  but  I  don't  want 
to  be  washed  away  by  the  rain." 


I  have  had  a  party.  Can  it  be  possible  ?  I'm 
sure  I  never  expected  to ;  but  my  sweet  mother 
proposed  it  herself.  She  thought  it  proper  that 
I  should  pay  this  attention  to  my  friends,  several 
of  whom  had  invited  me,  and  that  it  would  please 
my  grandfather,  who  loves  the  young.  She  said 
the  entertainment  must  be  simple,  and  break  up 
at  nine  o'clock. 

Of  course,  we  were  to  have  an  early  tea,  and  our 
old  colored  woman  was  delighted  at  the  thought 
of  serving  it  round.  How  kind  and  busy  was  my 
dear  mother  to  see  that  the  biscuits,  cake,  and 
sliced  ham  should  be  nice  and  in  the  best  order. 

All  the  scholars  were  invited,  and  scarcely  any 
failed  to  come.  How  well  and  neatly  they  look 
ed,  dressed  in  their  very  best.  Excellent  man 
ners,  too,  most  of  them  had.  At  this  I  was  sur 
prised,  having  seen  some  behave  very  differently 
in  school.  It  pleased  me  much  that,  after  enter 
ing  the  room,  they  each  went  up  and  bowed  and 
courtesied  to  my  good  grandfather.  He  looked 
beautifully,  seated  in  his  arm-chair,  his  hair,  which 
is  not  very  white  for  his  years,  brushed  so  smooth 
and  shining. 


46  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

"  I  like  to  see  young  people,"  said  lie,,  as  he 
took  them  by  the  hand;  UI  don't  know  why 
they  should  not  like  to  see  me  too." 

"  Indeed,  we  do,  sir,"  they  answered  with  one 
voice.  Then  some  of  them  gathered  round  him, 
and  asked  for  stories  of  the  Revolution  and  of 
Washington.  After  gratifying  them  a  while,  he 
requested  them  to  sing  a  song  or  tell  a  story. 
That  used  to  be  the  way  in  the  circles  of  old  times. 

They  tried  to  do  as  well  as  they  could,  out  of 
respect  to  his  wishes,  but  soon  fell  back  into  a 
variety  of  pleasant  games.  We  played  similes, 
and  history  characters,  and  "what's  my  thought 
like  ?"  and  made  words  out  of  letters  printed  on 
little  squares  of  pasteboard,  which  we  gave  to 
each  other  to  find  out,  having  the  right  to  ask 
three  questions  about  the  word  when  it  was  dis 
covered,  and  whoever  made  a  mistake  in  answer 
ing  must  pay  a  forfeit.  That's  a  right  good  game 
to  review  studies  by.  There's  fun  in  it  too. 

Then  we  took  to  telling  riddles  and  conun 
drums.  I  am  not  very  good  at  deciphering  them, 
but  some  of  the  girls  are  as  quick  as  the  light. 

"What  is  it,"  said  Henry  Howard,  "  that  gives 
a  cold,  cures  a  cold,  and  pays  the  doctor  ?" 

When  some  one  answered  "a  draught"  or 
"  draft,"  I  wondered  I  could  not  have  thought  of 
it  myself.  My  mother  asked,  "Why  is  a  woman 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  47 

diligent  at  her  needle  like  the  great  enemy  of 
souls  mentioned  in  the  parable  of  the  sower?" 
The  right  answer  was,  "Because  she  sews  tears 
(tares)  while  others  sleep." 

"  What  said  the  cat  when  she  came  out  of  the 
ark?"  was  another.  And  a  great  laugh  there 
was  when  Henry  Howard  replied  in  the  Irish 
brogue, 

"E'er  a  rat  here,"  sounding  broadly  like  Ar 
arat.  So  swiftly  fled  the  evening  that  we  were 
amazed  when  the  church  bell  began  to  ring  for 
nine  o'clock.  Then  all  took  a  respectful  leave  of 
grandfather  and  mother,  and  told  me  how  much 
they  had  enjoyed  their  visit. 

I  could  not  but  feel  ashamed  that  I  had  so  often 
been  displeased  and  satirical  at  our  class  of  col 
lege  students  when  I  saw  how  dignified  they  could 
appear.  Quite  a  number  of  the  pupils,  too,  who 
had  never  been  distinguished  for  scholarship,  I 
found,  were  so  by  fine  manners  and  attention  to 
older  people.  So  I  felt  more  strongly  than  ever 
that  there  are  various  kinds  of  goodness  in  the 
world,  and  that  we  should  try  to  do  justice  to  all, 
and  not  expect  every  body  to  follow  one  pattern. 

When  I  kissed  and  bade  my  precious  mother 
good-night,  I  thanked  her  for  her  indulgence  and 
thoughtful  care  to  make  me  happy,  and  was  de 
lighted  that  she  and  my  grandfather  both  express- 


48  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

ed  their  approval  of  my  conduct  and  manners 
throughout  the  evening. 

"Social  feelings  and  virtues,"  said  he,  "are 
essential  to  every  well-balanced  character." 

Truly  does  he  exemplify  his  own  precept.  He 
loves  all  mankind,  and  so  enters  into  the  pleasures 
of  the  young  that  there  is  no  shadow  of  the  cold 
ness  or  crossness  of  age  about  him. 


The  examination  at  the  close  of  our  scholastic 
year  is  soon  to  take  place.  Four  terms  we  have, 
of  twelve  weeks  each,  with  a  vacation  of  one  week 
between.  I  think  that  is  a  nice  division  of  time, 
keeping  us  close  to  our  studies,  but  allowing  a 
little  rest.  Our  Principal  always  takes  care  not 
to  press  the  mind  too  much,  and  to  make  it  pleas 
ant  to  get  knowledge,  so  that  we  do  not  grow 
weary  in  it  or  of  it.  We  love  his  gentle  rule, 
and  love  to  be  together,  so  that  even  our  short 
vacations  seem  long  enough,  and  too  long. 

At  the  end  of  every  term  is  a  review  of  our 
studies,  at  which  the  parents  are  present,  but  at 
the  completion  of  the  year  is  a  more  thorough  ex 
amination.  Then  every  pupil  has  liberty  to  in 
vite  three  friends,  and  the  Preceptor  ad  libif  m, 
so  we  shall  expect  a  full  audience,  though  a  se 
lect  one.  We  shall  adorn  our  room  with  vases 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  49 

and  garlands  of  flowers.  Our  Preceptor  says  we 
must  not  spend  too  much  time  in  arranging  them, 
but  simply  present  them  as  a  sweet  welcome  to 
our  friends,  and  make  the  principal  entertainment 
our  own  faultless  recitations,  and  good  conduct 
and  manners.  How  earnest  he  is  for  our  improve 
ment,  and  how  his  fine,  expressive  face  lights  up 
with  smiles  when  we  do  well. 


What  a  glorious  chapter  is  the  fifteenth  of  the 
first  of  Corinthians  !  When  I  read  it  by  myself 
in  my  chamber,  slowly,  and  musing  upon  every 
word,  it  lifts  up  my  soul  as  if  an  angel  spoke. 
Portions  of  it  have  been  committed  to  memory 
from  time  to  time,  and  last  Sunday  I  finished 
learning  the  whole.  I  felt  happier  for  it  through 
the  day.  Now,  when  I  lie  down  at  night,  I  can 
repeat  it  to  myself,  provided  I  do  not  fall  asleep 
before  I  reach  the  end ;  so  I  take  holy  thoughts 
with  me  into  my  dreams. 

What  a  beautiful  effect  it  has  in  the  burial  serv 
ice  of  the  Episcopal  Church !  After  that  fine  train 
of  reasoning,  and  the  terrific  assertion,  "Then 
are  all  that  have  fallen  asleep  in  Christ  perished," 
like  "what  a  music-strain  it  breaks  forth,  "  But 
now  is  Christ  risen  from  the  dead,  and  become 
the  first  fruits  of  them  that  slept."  Christian 


50 

faith  and  resolve  gather  new  strength  from  its 
grand  close,  "Wherefore,  my  beloved  brethren, 
be  ye  steadfast,  immovable,  always  abounding  in 
the  work  of  the  Lord,  forasmuch  as  ye  know  that 
your  labor  is  not  in  vain  in  .the  Lord." 


We  school-girls  have  been  talking  about  how 
far  back  we  can  remember.  There  are  a  variety 
of  opinions.  Some  say  till  four  years  of  age, 
others  three,  and  others  even  earlier.  It  is  diffi 
cult  to  distinguish  between  what  has  been  told 
us  and  what  is  entirely  the  work  of  memory. 
Strange  or  terrifying  things  may  make  a  very 
early  impression. 

Snatches  of  scenes  and  glimpses  of  persons  I 
remember  when  a  very  young  child  ;  but  they  are 
vague,  and  mixed  up  like  a  dream.  Besides,  I 
am  not  certain  that  some  of  them  were  not  de 
scribed  to  me.  Of  one  thing,  however,  I  am  sure, 
and  that  is  a  clear  remembrance  of  the  great  total 
eclipse  of  the  sun  when  I  was  six  years,  five 
months,  and  sixteen  days  old. 

It  took  place  on  Monday  morning,  June  17th, 
1806.  The  washer- woman,  at  her  tub  in  the 
kitchen,  was  rather  cross  because  I  wanted  to 
smoke  pieces  of  glass  at  her  fire. 

"  Miss  Lucy,  you're  a  gettin  in  my  way  every 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  51 

minute.  My  clothes  is  on  a  bilin,  as  you  see, 
arid  it's  ten  o'clock,  and  I  can't  be  hindered  so." 

"Please  just  let  me  smoke  this  last  piece  a 
little  more,  to  look  at  the  eclipse  with." 

"  'Clipse!  What  a  fuss  starin  arter  'clipses! 
I've  seen  'em  ever  since  I  was  as  high  as  a  hen." 

But  my  controversy  soon  ceased,  for  the  won^ 
derful  sight  began.  The  moon  moved  slowly  be 
fore  the  face  of  her  master,  and,  as  she  proceeded, 
the  trees  and  grass  assumed  a  melancholy  hue. 
A  ring  of  brightness  was  preserved,  but  growing 
narrower  and  narrower,  until  the  usurping  satel 
lite  wholly  covered  the  great,  blessed  sun.  Then 
the  earth  looked  dismal,  and  the  birds  hushed 
their  song ;  the  herds  left  off  grazing,  and  stood 
in  solemn  silence ;  my  chickens  flew  upon  their 
roost ;  the  summer  air  grew  chill,  and  a  strange 
vapor  floated  over  the  ground.  Here  and  there 
might  be  seen  a  pale,  frightened-looking  star,  as 
if  it  knew  it  had  no  business  there. 

Oh,  how  sad  it  seemed,  and  yet  sublime !  But 
the  parent  sun  pitied  the  earth,  and  suddenly 
broke  forth,  methought  much  faster  than  he  dis 
appeared.  Madam  Moon  fell  into  her  right  place 
again,  and  took  the  stars  with  her.  All  Xaturc 
rejoiced  at  the  recovered  noon-day.  Astronomers 
say  that  such  an  eclipse  will  not  take  place  again 
for  many  hundred  years. 


52  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Friends  of  mine,  who  were  traveling,  passed  at 
this  time  through  the  settlement  of  a  tribe  of  In 
dians.  They  all  came  forth  to  gaze  on  this  sud 
den  change,  not  knowing  that  it  was  to  take  place ; 
but  the  pride  of  their  race  withheld  them  from  ex 
pressing  fear,  or  even  surprise.  Though  they 
could  not  turn  their  eyes  away  from  it,  they  just 
said  in  the  coldest,  haughtiest  way,  "  They'd  seen 
such  things  before"  which,  of  course,  was  not  the 
case. 


We  are  through  with  the  great  yearly  exami 
nation  of  all  our  studies.  It  was  not  as  bad  a 
time  as  I  expected.  We  all  appeared  in  the  neat 
est  dresses,  and  the  school-room  and  halls  were 
beautifully  clean.  When  the  people  first  began 
to  come  was  the  worst  time.  The  minister,  and 
the  deacons,  and  the  doctor  looked  so  grave,  I 
thought  I  should  suffocate  if  I  had  to  speak  be 
fore  them ;  but  when  my  sweet  mother,  and  my 
grandfather  in  his  serene  old  age,  took  their  seats 
and  turned  their  eyes  toward  me,  I  said  to  my 
self,  "I'll  die  before  I  put  you  to  shame." 

So  I  determined  to  speak  distinctly  whatever 
I  had  to  say,  and  not  plague  any  who  took  the 
trouble  to  come  and  hear  us.  After  we  begun, 
every  study  brought  zeal  with  it,  and  we  forgot 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  53 

ourselves.  The  questions  were  given  and  an 
swered  rapidly.  If  any  one  hesitated  a  moment 
it  was  passed  to  the  next.  I  inly  prayed  that 
the  hateful  word  "  the  next"  might  not  be  spoken 
to  me,  and  God  granted  my  prayer. 

I  firmly  "believe  that  no  man  on  earth  besides 
our  Preceptor  could  have  gone  thoroughly  through 
such  a  variety  of  studies  in  so  short  a  time.  Be 
ing  himself  the  sole  teacher  in  every  one,  and  ac 
customed  in  our  weekly  reviews  to  examine  us 
without  a  book,  and  having  always  trained  us  to 
promptness  of  reply,  and  to  feel  it  disgraceful  to 
have  a  question  passed,  he  went  on  with  a  clear 
ness  of  mind  and  rapidity  that  seemed  to  be 
shared  or  imitated  by  the  scholars.  He  took  not 
up  a  moment  of  time  with  remarks  to  the  au 
dience,  but  simply  said  to  them,  with  his  pecul 
iarly  graceful,  courteous  bow,  "  Ladies  and  gen 
tlemen,  we  welcome  you,  and  will  all  do  our  best." 

The  hardest  part  of  the  whole  was  to  rise  and 
read  our  own  compositions.  I  do  not  know  why 
we  should  not  learn  to  do  difficult  things  as  well 
as  agreeable  ones,  for  life  is  not  always  to  be  fill 
ed  with  easy  lessons.  I  remembered  that  dear 
grandfather  did  not  hear  perfectly  unless  one 
spoke  slowly  and  distinctly.  I  thought  it  a  pity 
if  I  could  not  take  a  little  trouble  for  him,  and 
was  gratified,  when  we  got  home,  to  be  told  that 


54  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

lie  heard  every  syllable.  A  portion  only  were  se 
lected  for  this  exercise,  and  a  few  of  the  boys  to 
declaim,  lest  the  audience  might  be  wearied. 
They  did  not  appear  to  be,  and  our  close  was 
beautiful.  Hand  in  hand,  like  a  circle  of  twenty- 
five  brothers  and  sisters,  we  sang,  "Lord,  dismiss 
us  with  thy  blessing." 

To-morrow  morning  we  meet  for  a  little  while 
to  take  leave  and  receive  prizes.  How  sorrowful 
it  is  that  our  Preceptor  returns  no  more.  He  bids 
us  farewell,  to  commence  his  theological  course  in 
a  distant  city.  He  does  not  know  of  the  gifts 
we  have  prepared  for  him.  All  of  us  have  united 
and  bought  him  a  fine  edition  of  Shakspeare,  his 
favorite  poet,  and  a  -large,  beautiful  Bible,  having 
in  gold  letters  upon  its  cover  his  name,  as  the 
gift  of  his  grateful  pupils.  So  hereafter,  in  his 
own  home  and  his  family  devotions,  lie  will  re 
member  us. 


We  have  met  and  parted,  and  I  hold  in  my 
hand  the  medal  toward  which  our  efforts  for  a 
year  have  turned.  It  seems  as  if  I  were  not 
writing  the  truth.  Have  I  deserved  this  prize  ? 
Indeed,  I  have  tried  for  it,  but  have  thought  for 
some  time  past  that  two  or  three  others  had  a  bet 
ter  chance  of  obtaining  it.  I  supposed  I  should 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  55 

have  the  Monitor's  premium,  having  filled  that  of 
fice  the  greatest  number  of  times  during  the  last 
term,  but  had  requested  it  might  be  given  to  my 
dear  friend  Mary  Ann,  who  was  next  me  on  the 
list,  because  I  had  received  it  before.  I  believed 
myself  a  competitor  for  the  credit-mark  premium, 
but  this  we  never  know  until  the  final  counting 
of  our  Preceptor,  who  gives  us  a  mark  for  ev 
ery  correct  and  audible  answer  in  all  our  studies, 
copying  them  from  the  Monitor's  slate  at  night, 
and  placing  their  amount  every  Saturday  in  his 
book  opposite  our  names.  But,  then,  every  in 
fraction  of  the  rules  sweeps  off  a  number  of  these 
marks,  so  that  we  can  seldom  tell  how  we  stand 
in  this  matter  till  quite  the  last.  However,  I  had 
about  settled  down  that  I  had  as  good  a  pros 
pect  here  as  any  one,  and  that  the  medal  would 
be  of  difficult  decision  between  two  or  three  older 
pupils. 

When  it  was  suddenly  announced  to  be  mine 
by  undoubted  merit,  a  strange  feeling  came  over 
me — a  mingled  shock  of  embarrassment  and  grati 
tude.  I  did  not  see  clearly,  and  when  it  was  my 
duty  to  go  forward  and  receive  it,  a  sort  of  night 
mare  seized  my  limbs,  and  it  seemed  impossible 
to  move.  I  believed  I  could  not  speak,  but  by 
some  means  or  other  my  thought  became  a  mur 
mur  that  I  did  not  deserve  it;  whereupon  our 


56  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Preceptor  cried  "A  vote,"  and  every  hand  was 
raised.  Then  he  kindly  came  toward  me,  and 
threw  the  chain  of  the  medal  around  my  neck 
while  I  was  blind  with  tears. 

But  oh !  the  parting  with  him ;  it  was  so  bit 
ter  to  us  all.  He  tenderly  counseled  us  about 
our  future  conduct,  and  that  we  should  early  and 
firmly  give  our  hearts  to  our  Father  in  Heaven. 
We  shall  not  soon  forget  his  beautiful  quotation 
from  Cicero:  "I  can  not  think  any  one  in  his 
right  mind  who  is  destitute  of  religion."  To  the 
precept  of  the  heathen  he  added  the  impressive 
words  of  the  Psalmist,  "Tp-day,  if  ye  will  hear 
His  voice,  harden  not  your  hearts."  Thon  he 
read  the  twenty-second  of  Acts,  that  affecting 
parting  of  St.  Paul  with  the  flock  at  Miletus, 
and,  kneeling  down,  committed  us  all  in  prayer 
to  Almighty  God  for  the  last  time. 

The  last  time  !  And  now  he  is  gone,  and  we 
shall  see  him  no  more,  all  of  us  together  as  a  fam 
ily,  in  this  world.  The  Lord  bless  him  whereso 
ever  he  shall  go.  He  has  done  a  good  work  for 
us,  and  been  faithful.  When  we  come  to  die,  I 
believe  wre  shall  count  him  among  our  best,  truest 
benefactors.  The  Lord  bless  him  and  his  teach 
ings  to  us. 


57 

I  am  so  pleased  that  the  scholars  are  not  angry 
at  me  for  having  the  medal.  I  felt  almost  afraid 
to  meet  them  after  the  school  was  broken  up.  I 
think  in  my  own  private  mind  that  Harriette 
should  have  had  it.  She  writes  better  composi 
tions  ;  and  there  are  two  of  the  older  boys  who 
are  certainly  more  thorough  classics.  I  have 
taken  rather  more  pains,  perhaps,  to  be  diligent 
and  obedient,  and,  I  suppose,  all  such  things  were 
taken  into  view  in  according  the  reward  for  a 
whole  year.  But  as  to  the  matter  of  talents  and 
scholarship,  I  do  not  believe  I  stood  first,  and  I 
guess  others  think  so  too. 

But  they  are  all  so  good.  It  brings  tears  into 
my  eyes  to  think  of  it.  Several  have  called  on 
purpose  to  express  their  satisfaction,  and  others 
that  I  have  met  crossed  the  street  to  take  me  by 
the  hand  and  say  they  were  glad.  Especially 
Harriette,  who  is  in  so  many  respects  my  superior, 
said,  "  Sweet  Lucy,  it  is  your  right,  for  I  am  old 
er  than  you,  and  if  I  happen  to  know  a  few  more 
things,  that  don't  alter  the  case ;  so  come  here  and 
kiss  me." 

Then  Henry  Howard  must  needs  call  out,  in 
his  own  queer  way,  "  Lady  mine !  you  have  fair 
ly  won." 

I  do  feel  happy,  though  in  a  measure  humbled, 
by  this  reward,  and  truly  thankful  to  Plim  from 
C  2 


58  LUCY   HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

whom  cometh  every  good  gift,  for  enabling  me  to 
obtain  it,  if,  indeed,  I  have  in  any  measure  de 
served  it. 


Sadness  gathers  over  me  when  I  think  of  the 
farewell  of  our  kind  Instructor  to  his  pupils. 
Very  strong  are  the  ties  that  bind  our  hearts  to 
those  who  lead  us  in  the  paths  of  knowledge.  He 
was  not  content  with  just  imparting  to  us  what 
we  find  in  books.  He  called  into  action  all  our 
better  powers,  and  tried  to  fit  us  to  do  our  duty 
in  the  sight  of  God.  He  wished  us  to  love  each 
other,  and  to  love  all  mankind.  He  taught  us  to 
reverence  the  Sabbath,  and,  while  we  enlarged  our 
minds  with  new  ideas,  to  feed  the  heart  with  right 
affections,  and  the  soul  with  the  bread  that  came 
down  from  heaven. 

Therefore  we  so  loved  him,  because  he  daily 
made  us  wiser  and  happier.  Methinks  I  shall 
never  cease  to  mourn  the  loss  of  such  a  teacher 
and  friend. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  59 


Saturday,  January  1st,  1SH. 

The  vanishing  week  brings  me  a  birth-day. 
Methinks  it  throws  it  at  my  head,  like  a  snow 
ball,  with  an  icy  hand.  But  I  receive  it  gladly, 
as  a  token  of  good,  from  Him  who,  sitting  above 
the  clouds  and  the  cold,  sends  it  to  me. 

Though  Winter  ranges  o'er  the  plains, 

And  strips  their  verdure  bare, 
And  with  a  withering  touch  congeals 

What  once  was  bright  and  fair, 
And  strikes  the  little  songsters  mu;o, 

Or  drives  them  far  away, 
And  seals  the  brooklet's  fringed  lip 

That  sang  at  summer's  day, 
He  shall  not  touch  my  simple  strain 

That  flows  devoid  of  art, 
There  is  no  frost-work  on  my  lyre, 

No  winter  in  my  heart. 


I  am  perusing  the  Sacred  Volume  by  myself, 
in  course,  and  was  struck  with  the  great  beauty 
of  a  passage  that  occurred  in  the  one  hundred  and 
sixth  Psalm,  my  portion  for  this  morning:  "Re 
member  me,  O  Lord,  with  the  favor  that  Thou 
bearest  unto  thy  people  :  oh  !  visit  rs.Q  with  Thy 
salvation ;  that  I  may  see  the  good  of  Thy  cho- 


60  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

sen,  that  I  may  rejoice  in  the  gladness  of  Thy  na 
tion,  that  I  may  glory  with  Thine  inheritance." 


I  have  great  comfort  with  my  friend  Mary  Ann. 
We  are  side  by  side  in  most  of  our  studies,  and 
always  one  in  heart.  I  have  seen  her  more  than 
usual  during  this  vacation,  and  love  her  better 
than  ever.  She  is  like  a  sister,  as  far  as  I  know 
what  a  sister  would  be ;  at  any  rate,  she  is  one 
to  me.  When  we  enter  school,  as  our  seats  are 
not  together,  we  always  smile  upon  each  other ; 
and  if  any  thing  goes  hard  in  our  lessons,  we  look 
into  each  other's  loving  eyes,  and  seem  to  get 
light  and  strength.  After  school,  if  we  are  not 
obliged  to  hasten  home,  I  walk  with  her  to  her 
door  one  day,  and  she  with  me  the  next.  She  is 
so  beautiful,  and  her  thick,  raven  hair  so  glossy. 
Sometimes  I  think  she  is  an  angel.  I  wish  we 
might  go  to  school  together  all  the  days  of  our 
lives. 

Some  of  the  girls  laugh  at  us.  Others  say, 
they  wonder  what  we  find  in  each  other  so  very 
remarkable.  They  wish"  to  give  us  names  sig 
nificant  of  our  preference.  One  of  the  boys  said 
that  neither  sacred  or  classic  story  gave  an  in 
stance  of  female  friendship,  so  that  the  only  way 
would  be  to  form  a  feminine  to  David  and  Jona- 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  61 

than,  or  Castor  and  Pollux,  or  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher.  So,  thinking  himself  very  witty,  he 
exclaimed,  "For  the  present,  we  can  do  no  bet 
ter  than  to  call  them  Miss  David  and  Miss  Jon 
athan.  But  which  of  them,  do  you  suppose,  will 
brandish  the  sling  and  stone  ?  for  I  don't  believe 
either,  for  all  they're  such  famous  scholars,  would 
have  the  pluck  to  kill  Goliath." 


Alas  !  alas  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  It  is  decided 
that  I  must  not  go  to  school  any  more.  How 
can  I  write  such  words  ?  How  can  I  believe 
them  ? 

People  have  been  talking  to  mother.  They 
say  I  am  a  good  scholar  in  French  and  in  Latin, 
in  Algebra,  History,  and  all  the  common  branch 
es,  and  that  there's  no  more  for  me  to  learn.  'Tis 
not  true.  I  am  just  a  beginner.  To  be  sure,  I've 
taken  pains  to  get  my  lessons  well.  I  wish  I  had 
not.  I  wish  I  had  made  mistakes  at  the  public 
examination.  I  wish  I  had  mumbled  when  I  read 
or  spoke,  so  that  they  could  not  have  heard  me. 

I  wonder  if  this  does  not  come  from  getting 
the  medal.  I'd  rather  never  have  had  it,  nor  any 
of  my  other  prizes. 

Grandfather  says,  when  he  was  young,  the 
women  did  not  go  to  school  so  much,  and  were 


62  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

better  housekeepers,  and  had  better  health.  I 
don't  see  why  their  housekeeping,  or  their  health 
either,  should  be  helped  by  being  dunces.  "  You 
polish  and  polish,"  he  says  to  mother,  when  talk 
ing  about  my  education,  "but  will  the  founda 
tion  be  stronger  ?"  Oh  dear  I  I  don't  wish  to 
hear  any  of  their  arguments  to  this  end.  I  ex 
pected  to  have  been  a  pupil  much  longer.  I  feel 
as  if  I  knew  nothing  yet  as  I  ought  to  know. 


Every  thing  has  two  sides.  A  clear  mind 
ought  to  look  upon  both.  Now  about  this  mis 
erable  matter  of  leaving  school  so  young.  I  have 
fully  bemoaned  myself.  Is  not  there  comfort  to 
be  found  somewhere  ?  "  If  a  bee  has  stung  us," 
says  an  old  writer,  "we  may  as  well  hunt  after 
the  honey." 

Our  adored  Preceptor  is  going  away.  He  un 
derstood  all  our  characters  and  loved  us.  Per 
haps  some  one  will  take  his  place  who  may  do 
neither.  It  would  be  sad  to  see  a  stranger  in  his 
seat.  So  it  is  a  good  time  to  leave  when  he 
leaves. 

I  need  not  forsake  studying.  Is  not  the  whole 
world  of  books  before  me  ?  Besides,  I  have  some 
thing  new  to  learn,  the  domestic  science  of  mak 
ing  home  happy.  It  belongs  to  my  sex,  and 


JOURNAL.  63 

has  many  details  and  an  unending  scope.  One 
need  not  be  ashamed  of  it,  for  it  well  employs 
both  mind  and  heart. 

Now  I  can  have  time  to  help  my  darling  mother. 
There  is  the  strong  consolation.  If  I  can  relieve 
her  from  the  slighest  care — if  I  can  come  with  my 
young  arm  to  the  aid  of  that  which  so  -tenderly 
embraced  me  when  a  helpless  infant — if  I  can  see 
her,  when  sad  or  weary,  turning  to  me  as  a  useful 
assistant,  I  shall  be  grateful  and  grieve  no  more. 


Many  stories  of  the  Revolutionary  War  my 
good  grandfather  knows,  which  are  much  more 
interesting  for  his  having  borne  a  part  in  those 
stirring  times.  Love  of  country  seemed  then  to 
fill  every  bosom.  He  belonged  to  the  first  com 
pany  in  his  native  state  that  sprang  up  and  left 
their  homes  at  the  news  that  blood  was  shed  at 
Lexington. 

In  one  of  the  neighboring  villages  an  aged  ne 
gro  servant  came  into  the  house,  saying, 

"What  for  'e  drum  beat?  No  trainin-day, 
no  town-meetin,  but  'e  drum  beat." 

Some  doubt  being  expressed  of  the  fact,  he 
went  out  again,  and,  returning  hastily,  exclaimed, 

"  I  wish  Pompey  drop  down  dead  if  'e  great 
drum  don't  beat." 


64  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL. 

In  his  steps  came  the  son,  the  sole  hope  of  the 
family. 

"Father,  please  to  reach  me  down  the  gun. 
Mother,  put  me  up  some  bread  and  cheese.  The 
regulars  have  shot  down  our  people  at  Lexing 
ton.  I  must  go." 

There  was  no  holding  back  of  their  treasure. 
The  lips  of  the  parents  pronounced  the  words  of 
blessing,  and  he  set  off  on  his  journey  of  more 
than  a  hundred  miles  to  peril  his  young  life  in  the 
"high  places  of  the  field." 


Once,  while  "Washington  was  engaged  in  su 
perintending  the  building  of  a  fort,  a  flag  of  truce 
was  sent  from  the  British.  He  left  the  timbers, 
and  stones,  and  toiling  soldiers,  to  take  the  mes 
sage  of  the  envoy. 

The  time  of  dinner  arrived,  and  the  stranger 
was  invited  to  partake.  It  was  simply  boiled 
pork,  with  the  vegetables  of  the  country,  brought 
on  in  a  large  tub.  No  apology  was  made.  Each 
man  was  requested  to  seek  out  a  clean  chip  for 
his  plate,  and  partake.  This  they  did  cheerfully, 
and  with  hearty  appetite. 

He  who  bore  the  flag  of  truce  said  on  his  re 
turn,  "I  thought,  until  now,  that  the  rebels  would 
be  easily  subdued;  but  men  who  are  willing  to 
do  as  I  saw  them  do  can  never  be  conquered." 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  65 

There  was  something  of  the  spirit  of  Rome  in 
her  best  days,  and,  what  was  better  still,  that 
Christian  reliance  on  the  God  of  battles,  and  that 
belief  in  the  righteousness  of  their  cause,  that  led 
on  through  every  hardship  to  victory.  So  said 
my  venerable  grandfather,  and  so  I  believe. 


Dear  mother  says  the  spirit  of  order  is  essen 
tial  to  all  good  housekeeping.  I  wish  to  begin 
at  the  right  end,  and  learn  it  like  any  other  sci 
ence.  "  Order  is  Heaven's  first  law,"  said  Pope. 
Then  it  ought  to  be  ours,  if  we  expect  to  get  to 
heaven,  and  feel  at  home  there. 

I  am  to  have  certain  departments  in  the  house 
committed  to  my  care.  Simple  enough  they 
seem,  and  when  I  am  quite  au  fait  in  them  I 
shall  go  higher.  Besides  the  regular  work  of  the 
family,  my  mother  has  a  particular  employment 
assigned  for  each  day  of  the  week,  and  our  clever 
colored  woman  has  thus  become  quite  systematic. 

I  shall  try,  also,  to  fix  my  own  hours  in  con 
formity  with  her  plans,  and  my  seasons  for  read 
ing,  writing,  needle-work,  and  social  intercourse. 
It  will  be  beautiful,  I  am  sure.  Thus,  every 
day,  I  hope  to  see  that  something  useful  has  been 
done ;  every  week,  that  something  new  has  been 
learned ;  every  month,  that  a  good  advance  has 


66  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

been  made  ;  every  season  and  year,  that  I  become 
more  what  I  ought  to  be — what  I  shall  wish  I 
had  been  when  I  make  up  the  account  of  life. 
My  heavenly  Father,  I  look  to  Thee  for  wisdom 
and  strength  to  persevere. 


What  funny  mistakes  children  make  about 
words !  A  little  sister  of  one  of  my  friends  had 
been  taught  to  say  at  night,  as  a  religious  exer 
cise, 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep,"  &c. 

She  had  heard  some  animals  described,  and 
among  them  the  lama,  and,  from  resemblance  in 
the  sound  of  the  tfiird  and  fourth  words  in  the 
first  line,  thought  it  was  the  name  of  this  quad 
ruped.  So,  after  a  while,  says  she,  when  going  to 
bed,  "Mamma,  I'm  awful  tired  of  always  saying 
'  Now  I  lamaf  won't  it  do  once  in  a  while  to  say, 
"  ' Now  I  camel  down  to  sleep?' " 


I  begin  to  like  knitting  very  much.  I  find  I 
can  knit  and  read  at  the  same  time.  It  is  mighty 
interesting  to  do  two  things  at  once.  In  the  long 
evening,  by  a  bright  fire,  I  knit  at  my  mother's 
side,  and  learn  of  her  to  shape  a  stocking,  which 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL^    \        <>7 

is  quite  an  art.  Grandfather  says  there  was  an 
old  adage  that  "  they  who  knit  their  own  stock 
ings  never  came  to  poverty."  I  suppose  it  meant 
that  the  habits  of  industry  and  economy  thus 
cherished  would  be  a  protection  against  beggary 
and  want. 


I  have  a  great  desire  to  know  something  about 
cookery,  not  because  the  French  call  it  a  fine  art, 
but  because  it  makes  people  happy  at  the  table, 
and  has  a  great  deal  to  do  with  health.  Heavy 
bread  and  puddings,  meat  half  roasted,  or  fried  up 
like  shot,  I  am  sure  hurt  people's  stomachs,  and 
temper  too.  There  shall  be  no  such  things  in  my 
house  when  I  have  one ;  so  I  must  learn  now 
how  long  different  kinds  of  meat,  fish,  and  vege 
tables  require  to  be  exposed  to  heat,  that  I  may 
teach  others.  Mamma  says  she  will  instruct  me 
how  various  favorite  dishes  are  composed,  and  I 
am  to  have  a  book  of  my  own,  in  which  to  write 
the  rules  and  recipes  of  all  that  I  make  with  my 
own  hands.  I  don't  see  why  it  won't  be  as  nice 
as  learning  a  new  language,  and  about  as  exten 
sive  too,  if  one  only  gives  their  mind  to  it.  In 
one  way  it  seems  to  be  better,  for  you  might  de 
cline  nouns,  and  conjugate  verbs,  and  interest  no 
body  but  yourself ;  whereas,  if  you  bring  forward 


68  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

a  light  cake  or  a  well-browned  chicken,  there  will 
likely  be  pleasant  words  and  smiles  to  repay  you. 


A  new  thing  has  been  learned  to-day.  It 
makes  me  very  happy.  There  was  a  large  wheel 
in  the  garret,  and  grandfather  said  he  wished  me 
to  spin  upon  it,  for  it  made  a  peculiar  kind  of 
music,  which  in  early  days  was  pleasant  to  his 
ear.  Then  I  began  turning  it  round  at  a  great 
rate,  but  he  said  "not  so."  My  mother  produced 
some  long,  white  rolls  of  wool,  like  the  softest 
silk,  and  instructed  me  how  to  draw  out  a  thread 
evenly  from  them,  turning  the  wheel  with  judg 
ment  to  give  it  consistence ;  then,  when  two  or 
three  threads  are  put  together,  and  slightly  twist 
ed,  it  is  in  a  fit  state  to  make  durable  stockings. 
It  would  please  me  very  much  to  knit  a  pair  or 
two  for  dear  grandfather  of  my  own  spinning. 
The  exercise  is  so  exhilarating,  too.  As  soon  as 
I  was  able  to  manage  the  machine,  I  sang  invol 
untarily  from  lightness  of  heart.  It  is  said  that 
people  have  been  cured  of  pulmonary  weakness 
by  spinning  at  the  great  wheel,  so  salutary  is  its 
action  to  the  chest,  as  well  as  other  sets  of  mus 
cles.  Some  old  writer  has  christened  it  "  Hy- 
geia's  harp."  I  do  not  intend  to  be  ashamed  of 
its  use,  though  it  may  be  rather  out  of  fashion  ; 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  69 

and,  if  my  mother  consents,  should  like  to  keep  it 
in  action  an  hour  in  each  day,  provided  I  can  find 
enough  to  spin.  Flannel  sheets  are  thus  made, 
which  old  and  feeble  people  find  comfortable  in 
the  winter ;  also  cotton  may  be  spun  upon  it,  as 
well  as  what  is  hatcheled  out  of  flax,  which  is 
economically  converted,  I  am  told,  into  table 
cloths  and  towels  for  the  kitchen,  with  other 
coarse  and  durable  fabrics. 


I  have  now  more  time  to  get  acquainted  with 
mother's  pensioners.  Old  Mrs.  Dean  lives  in  a 
very  small,  cold  house.  She  is  more  than  seventy. 
All  the  family  have  to  support  them  is  what  is 
earned  by  her  daughter,  who  goes  out  to  washing, 
scouring,  and  the  hardest  work.  While  she  is 
away,  the  grandmother  takes  care  of  the  children 
as  well  as  she  can.  The  oldest,  Nancy,  nine 
years  old,  lost  the  use  of  her  lower  limbs  by  the 
scarlet  fever,  and  is  able  only  to  help  a  little  with 
her  poor,  thin  hands.  Then  there  are  two  boys, 
three  and  four  years  old,  full  of  health,  and  just 
as  rude  as  they  can  be.  A  tight  thing  it  is  for 
the  old  person  and  the  feeble  girl  to  keep  them  in 
any  sort  of  order.  Their  father  went  away  two 
years  ago,  and  has  not  been  heard  from  since. 
Perhaps  he  was  no  great  comfort  to  the  family 


70  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

when  he  was  with  them,  as  he  liked  drinking  bet 
ter  than  work,  and  used  sometimes  to  come  home 
as  bad  and  fierce  as  a  grizzly  bear,  and  drive  them 
all  out  of  the  house.  Mamma  said  I  might  take 
a  nice,  nourishing  soup  to  them  if  I  would  make 
it  myself.  This  was  a  double  pleasure,  and  so, 
asking  directions  of  her  and  the  colored  woman, 
I  proceeded  as  follows  : 

A  large  piece  of  beef  containing  a  marrow-bone, 
and  which  is,  I  believe,  called  a  hock,  was  boiled 
the  whole  afternoon,  carefully  taking  off  whatever 
rose  to  the  top ;  then  it  was  poured  out  to  cool. 
In  the  morning  the  oleaginous  part  was  removed, 
and  likewise  the  sediment  at  the  bottom,  in  which 
were  small  .fragments  of  bone.  Returning  it  to 
the  vessel,  which  had  been  nicely  cleansed,  it  was 
permitted  to  boil  gently  and  steadily  until  about 
an  hour  before  it  was  to  be  used.  The  bones 
were  then  taken  out,  a  quantity  of  carrots,  turnips, 
and  potatoes,  cut  like  dice,  added,  with  a  little 
cabbage  and  celery  cut  small ;  some  flour,  brown 
ed  at  the  fire,  and  mixed  evenly  without  lumps, 
put  in,  to  thicken  and  give  it  color,  with  salt  and 
pepper  sufficient  to  flavor  it.  It  was  a  real  cold 
day  when  Amy  went  to  help  me  carry  it,  taking 
also  a  couple  of  loaves  of  her  nice  bread.  Poor 
Mrs.  Dean  sat  shivering  when  we  went  in,  for 
there  was  but  little  fire.  When  she  had  tasted 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  71 

two  or  three  spoonfuls  of  the  nutritious  food,  light 
came  to  her  eye,  and  she  said,  "  God  bless  you, 
my  dear  young  lady."  I  could  scarcely  help  cry 
ing  for  joy.  Feeble  Nancy  received  a  large  saucer 
full,  for  the  distance  was  so  short  that  we  got  it 
there  quite  warm,  and  seemed  comforted  as  she 
cowered  over  the  hearth,  where  were  a  few  embers. 
The  two  little  ragamuffins,  who  had  been  pitch 
ing  each  other  into  the  snow,  came  in  for  a  plen 
tiful  share,  dispatching  soup  and  bread  in  a  mar 
velous  manner.  "  That's  right  good,"  said  they, 
smacking  their  lips;  "give  us  some  more  on't." 
I  told  them  to  make  a  bow  to  their  grandmother, 
and  thank  her  for  their  dinner.  "  'Ta'n't  her'n," 
said  they.  But  I  insisted  that  they  should  make 
her  a  bow,  and  showed  them  how  to  bend  their 
stiff  backs,  at  which  they  seemed,  in  the  end, 
mightily  entertained.  I  am  going  over  once  or 
twice  a  week  to  teach  Nancy  to  read,  she  having 
never  had  health  to  go  to  school,  and  then  I  se 
cretly  contemplate  instructing  these  semi-barba 
rians  a  little,  at  least  in  the  alphabet  of  civiliza 
tion. 


Though  grandfather  is  very  much  pleased  with 
my  interest  in  household  matters,  he  does  not 
wish  me  to  lay  aside  my  studies.  He  expressed 


72  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

a  fear  lest  I  should  forget  what  I  had  acquired  at 
school,  especially  the  languages  ;  so  I  have  trans 
lated  for  him  to-day  a  part  of  one  of  the  Georgics, 
and  some  passages  from  the  ^Eneid.  I  could  not 
but  observe  that  he  gave  more  entire  attention  to 
the  former  than  to  the  latter,  though  it  was  a 
stirring  portion  of  the  second  book,  describing 
the  conflagration  of  Troy.  This  convinced  me 
that,  though  he  had  been  so  long  a  military  man, 
his  tastes  were  peaceful.  Doubtless  he  became 
a  soldier  from  duty,  when  his  country  struggled 
for  life,  but  his  heart  was  with  Nature  and  rural 
tilings.  He  was  delighted  with  this  little  clas 
sical  exercise,  and  desired  me  to  repeat  it  three 
times  a  week,  appointing  the  hour.  His  own  ex 
cellent  memory  seems  to  remain  unimpaired ;  but 
I  see  that  he  takes  pains  to  keep  it  in  action,  not 
only  by  recurring  to  what  he  learned  in  youth, 
but  by  committing  something  verbatim  almost 
every  day,  if  only  a  few  lines  of  poetry.  If  every 
aged  person  would  be  equally  careful  in  exercis 
ing  their  memory,  I  think  they  might  prevent  its 
decay.  After  the  reading,  when  we  had  talked  a 
little  about  Virgil,  he  repeated  to  me  one  of  the 
versions  of  his  epitaph,  which  pleased  him  by  its 
concise  narration  of  facts  : 

"I  sang  flocks,  heroes,  tillage  :  Mantua  gave 
Me  life ;  Brundusium,  death  ;  Naples,  a  grave." 


73 


I  never  much  liked  William  tlie  Conqueror, 
nor,  indeed,  any  of  the  Norman  line.  My  sym 
pathies  have  been  with  the  Saxons.  It  was  ty 
rannical  in  the  new  lords  to  tear  down  their 
houses  and  plant  great  forests  to  hunt  in,  and  let 
the  growling  wild  beasts  in  where  the  children 
grew.  Then  they  guarded  their  selfish  pleasures 
by  such  severe  laws,  putting  out  the  eyes  of  who 
ever  pursued  any  game  without  permission,  though 
they  had  so  little  idea  of  justice  that  he  who  kill 
ed  one  of  his  fellow-creatures  might  get  off  by  pay 
ing  a  fine.  William  laid  waste  the  country  for 
some  thirty  miles,  to  make  the  new  forest  near  his 
palace  at  Winchester ;  drove  the  poor  inhabitants 
from  their  dwellings,  and  gave  them  no  compen 
sation.  I  always  thought  it  was  right  that  his 
son,  William  Rufus,  should  have  been  slain  in 
that  very  wilderness  they  were  so  proud  of,  in 
stead  of  the  deer  that  he  was  himself  hunting. 
Those  Norman  kings  !  those  Norman  kings  ! 

With  their  stern  and  haughty  port, 
They  crush'd  the  life  from  a  thousand  homes 

For  the  sake  of  their  savage,  sport. 
For  the  sake  of  hunting  the  boar  and  hare, 

With  uproar  of  horns  and  cries, 
They  put  out  the  fire  from  a  thousand  hearths, 

That  thickets  and  dells  might  rise. 
No  more  those  humble  roof-trees  smiled, 
Nor  the  mead  like  amber  flow'd 

D 


74  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

But  the  conquer'd  Saxon  shuddering  wept 
O'er  the  wreck  of  his  loved  abode. 


I  was  glad  to  find  that  old  Mrs.  Dean  had  a 
comfortable  fire.  Somebody  had  sent  a  good 
quantity  of  wood,  she  did  not  know  who.  I 
think  grandfather  may,  who,  in  his  alms,  observes 
the  divine  rule  not  to  "let  the  right  hand  know 
what  the  left  doeth."  She  was  much  pleased 
with  some  coarse  yarn  I  brought  her,  of  my  own 
spinning,  from  gray  wool  which  mother  had  giv 
en  me.  With  this,  she  said,  she  could  knit  stock 
ings  for  them  all,  and  teach  Nancy  to  help  her. 
I  was  delighted  to  find  how  much  the  latter  had 
improved  in  reading,  for  she  practices  in  the  sim 
ple  books  I  left  with  her  during  the  intervals  of 
teaching.  She  is  able  now  to  read  one  of  the 
short  psalms  to  the  family  in  the  morning,  and 
before  they  go  to  bed  at  night.  "  That's  such  a 
comfort,"  said  the  grandmother,  "and  seems  so 
much  like  a  prayer."  Strange  as  it  was,  the  two 
wild  boys  stood  still,  listening,  while  she  read  to 
me.  Then  the  oldest  twitched  my  sleeve,  vocif 
erating,  "I  want  to  use  them  'ere  books  as  well 
as  Nance."  I  asked  him  if  he  would  learn  to 
read,  and  he  answered,  "  Yes,  I  will ;"  so  I  gave 
him  a  lesson,  and,  to  my  great  surprise,  he  attend- 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  75 

ed  earnestly,  and  promised  to  learn  another  "be 
fore  I  came  again.  Then  I  told  him  if  I  taught 
him  to  read  he  must  mind  his  mother  and  grand 
mother,  and  wait  upon  his  sick  sister,  for  the  great 
end  of  knowledge  was  to  make  people  good.  So 
he  promised  that  he  would,  to  my  great  amaze 
ment  ;  and  when  I  gave  him  a  little  book,  remem 
bering  my  former  lesson  in  manners,  he  made  a 
low  bow,  and  said,  "  Thank  you,  ma'am,  for  my 
dinner,"  that  being  the  phrase  which  was  at  first 
taught  him. 


My  grandfather  said  that  in  the  olden  time  a 
variety  of  domestic  cordials  were  compounded  for 
the  weak  and  weary,  especially  during  seasons  of 
severe  cold.  One  of  these  he  mentioned  as  wor 
thy  of  a  place  among  my  practical  recipes,  where 
upon  my  mother  immediately  provided  me  with 
the  materials,  viz.,  one  ounce  and  a  half  of  white 
ginger  in  the  root,  four  pounds  of  loaf  sugar,  and 
two  large,  fine  lemons.  It  is  better  to  have  the 
ginger  unpulverized,  that  it  may  leave  no  sedi 
ment,  and  white  rather  than  yellow,  if  you  wish 
the  cordial  colorless.  Macerate  the  root ;  mix  it 
with  the  sugar  and  juice  of  the  lemons ;  pour 
upon  them  six  quarts  of  water;  add  two  large 
spoonfuls  of  fresh  yeast ;  stir  the  whole  in  some 


76 

deep  vessel,  and  allow  it  to  stand  two  days  with 
out  moving.  When  the  fermentation  is  complete, 
pour  off  the  cordial ;  add  enough  pure  white 
spirit  to  prevent  its  acidulating ;  strain  it  through 
a  flannel  bag ;  bottle,  and  cork  it  with  care.  When 
well  made,  it  is  very  clear,  and  has  sometimes,  at 
first  opening,  as  much  fixed  air  as  Champagne. 
It  is  better  to  put  it  in  pint  bottles,  as,  after  being 
once  uncorked,  it  loses  a  portion  of  its  life.  It  is 
agreeable  to  the  taste,  and  also  a  cheap  and  use 
ful  gift  to  the  invalid  poor,  who  frequently,  in 
their  convalescence,  suffer  for  the  want  of  a  sim 
ple  restorative,  and  are  thus  tempted  to  the  un 
safe  search  of  stimulants  and  the  formation  of 
ruinous  habits. 


I  wonder  if  I  could  not  write  a  novel.  ,1  think 
I  might,  though  I  have  never  read  one.  Mamma 
has  not  been  willing  that  I  should  occupy  my 
time  with  them.  I  suppose  I  must  take  Earls 
and  Countesses,  and  several  singular  people,  and 
beauty  and  love,  and  dangers  and  escapes,  and 
perils  and  quarrels,  and  shake  all  up  together, 
and  the  end  would  be  matrimony.  A  great  deal 
of  uncommon  action  to  arrive  at  a  common  con 
dition.  And  then,  I  understand,  all  the  romance 
vanishes. 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL.  77 

Emily,  Mary  Ann's  handsome  cousin,  has  some 
young  brothers  and  sisters  who  are  bright,  and 
say  queer,  funny  things.  One  of  them  had  a 
slight  touch  of  fever  not  long  since.  Having 
heard  it  said  that  people  were  sometimes  delirious 
with  such  complaints,  he  seemed  to  be  looking 
out  for  that  condition.  One  day,  growing  rather 
tired  with  sitting  up,  he  cried  out  suddenly,  "Lay 
me  on  the  bed !  lay  me  on  the  bed  !  my  head  is 
getting  affected!  my  reputation  is  gone!"  But 
the  panic,  which  was  half  serious,  half  in  laugh 
ter,  soon  passed  away. 


Dear  mother  likes  the  sound  of  the  French  ;  so 
I  have  been  reading  her,  by  little  and  little,  the 
two  sacred  dramas  of  Racine,  Esther  and  Athalic. 
It  seems  he  was  induced  to  write  them  by  the  re 
quest  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  wished  some 
thing  drawn  from  Scripture  history  to  be  recited 
by  the  young  ladies  under  her  charge  at  St.  Cyr. 
Thus  Miss  Hannah  More  composed  her  sacred 
dramas,  as  a  similar  exercise  for  the  pupils  of  the 
school  conducted  by  her  elder  sisters. 


78  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Adieu  to  the  first  volume  of  my  journal.  Ev 
ery  possible  space  in  it  is  covered.  I  began  it 
with  reluctance,  as  we  are  sometimes  forced  into 
an  acquaintance  with  a  stranger  whom  we  do  not 
expect  to  like.  But  it  has  been  quite  a  comfort, 
on  the  whole.  I  have  formed  such  a  habit  of 
gossiping  with  it  that  it  seems  like  a  sort  of  in 
telligent  companion.  At  all  events,  it  is  a  good 
listener.  More  than  this,  I  believe  it  is  a  good 
friend ;  and  if  I  make  a  right  use  of  its  friend 
ship,  it  will  be  the  means  of  aiding  my  improve 
ment  here  and  my  happiness  hereafter. 


79 


Sunday,  January  1st,  1815. 

Three  forms,  with  this  brightly  rising  sun, 
seem  to  stand  before  me.  OneJaears  a  scroll,  K 
and  at  her  girdle  a  writer's  ink-horn.  One,  with 
a  brow  of  beauty  and  mystery,  takes  my  hand 
and  leads  onward.  The  other  kneels  and  points 
upward,  saying,  "Worship  God." 

I  know  them  to  be  a  New  Journal,  with  un 
stained  pages,  a  New  Year,  and  a  New  Sabbath. 
All  meet  me  together.  I  give  them  welcome.  I 
yield  myself  to  their  teachings. 

Methought  I  heard  tones  of  singular  sweetness, 
like  a  blended  song : 

'Twas  the  voice  of  the  New  Year :  it  spake  to  me 
With  a  lip  of  frost  and  a  smile  of  glee, 
"Be  happy!  be  happy!"  and  then  it  pass'd, 
With  a  shower  of  snow,  on  the  wing  of  the  blast. 
The  voice  of  my  birth-day !    It  fell  on  my  ear, 
And  the  heart  rose  up  from  its  cell  to  hear, 
While  Vanity  listen'd  with  drooping  crest, 
"  These  fifteen  times  have  I  been  thy  guest ; 
Monitions  and  gifts  I  have  brought  frofn  the  skies ; 
Hast  thou  learn'd  to  be  useful,  and  pious,  and  wise  ? 
For  those  alone  can  be  happy  that  fear 
And  love  the  Being  who  placed  them  here." 


80  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

To-day,  January  8th,  completes  a  century  since 
the  death  of  Fenelon.  Biding  in  a  retired  part 
of  his  estate,  his  horses  took  fright  and  overturn 
ed  the  carriage,  so  injuring  him  as  eventually  to 
terminate  his  life  at  the  age  of  sixty-four.  I  ad 
mire  the  simplicity  of  his  writings,  the  patience 
with  which  he  met  ill  treatment,  and  his  great 
benevolence.  So  well  did  he  balance  his  income 
and  his  expenses,  that,  when  he  died,  he  left 
neither  debts  to  pay  nor  wealth  to  be  disposed 
of.  Once,  when  his  valuable  and  beloved  library 
was  destroyed  by  fire,  he  said,  "  God  be  praised 
that  it  was  not  the  cottage  of  some  poor  family." 
He  was  often  found  in  the  abode  of  the  humblest 
peasants,  tasting  their  coarse  fare,  instructing  their 
ignorance,  or  comforting  them  in  affliction.  Long 
after  his  decease  they  pointed  out  with  veneration 
the  chair  beneath  the  trees  on  which  the  "good 
Archbishop  of  Cambray"  sat  and  talked  with  them 
and  their  children.  I  think  a  true  Christian  ex 
ample  should  be  revered,  wherever  it  is  seen,  or 
to  whatever  sect  it  belongs. 


I  saw  last  evening,  February  15th,  a  novel  and 
most  exciting  scene — an  illumination  for  the  re 
turn  of  peace.  I  had  no  idea  it  could  be  so  su 
perb.  Window  after  window  lighted  up,  and  hill- 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL.  81 

top  threw  to  hill-top  its  signal  of  joy.  When  the 
panes  were  small,  with  a  candle,  or  a  part  of  one, 
placed  at  each,  the  effect  was  beautiful.  They 
had  a  tremulous  motion,  as  the  air  swept  over 
them,  like  twinkling  stars.  Some  were  so  placed 
as  to  form  words,  such  as  "Welcome,  Peace!" 
"Hail  to  the  men  of  Ghent!"  alluding  to  the 
city  where  the  treaty  was  signed.  Snow  upon 
the  roofs  of  the  houses,  and  trodden  in  a  firm 
pavement  upon  the  streets,  added  contrast  to  the 
brilliance.  There  was  fine  martial  music,  and  the 
bells  rang  as  if  they  had  souls.  Throngs  pass 
ing  and  repassing  spoke  words  of  greeting,  and 
strangers  seemed  to  love  each  other.  Such  de 
light  has  the  termination  of  a  war  caused  which 
never  had  the  approbation  of  the  people ;  so  dif 
ferent  from  that  in  which  they  stood  for  life  and 
liberty,  and  all  that  was  dear. 

Never  have  I  witnessed  such  enthusiasm. 
When  the  appointed  time  for  extinguishing  the 
lights  came,  it  seemed  to  be  done  in  a  moment. 
Then  the  darkness  was  so  mournful.  Yet  it  was 
very  pleasant  to  see  with  what  regularity  and 
quietness  all  returned  to  their  homes,  as  if  they 
knew  how  to  rejoice  like  a  wise  people.  We 
three,  with  dear  Mary  Ann  and  Henry  Howard, 
who  was  at  home  from  college,  walked  up  and 
down  the  streets  while  the  spectacle  lasted.  We 
D  2 


82 

felt  no  fatigue;   it  seemed  as  if  we  were  in  a 
dream. 


Last  night  it  was  long  after  returning  ere  I  fell 
asleep.  Then  methought  I  saw  an  angelic  be 
ing  with  an  olive-branch,1  who  said, 

"  My  white  wings  enfolded  the  globe  when  it 

C  first  came  from  its  Creator's  hand.     I  lingered 

f  -;    among  the  green  shades  and  bright  dews  of  Eden. 

I  tuned  the  harps  that  on  the  plain  of  Bethlehem 

sang  'Peace  on  earth,  and  good-will  to  men.' 

"But  my  permanent  abode  is  not  here.  War 
is  loved  better  than  peace.  To  earth  I  must  be 
a  transient  visitant.  I  find  my  best  shelter  in 
"the  breast  of  the  humble  followers  of  Jesus. 
There  I  speak,  and  am  answered,  and  leave  gifts 
that  the  world  can  not  take  away." 


My  mother's  birth-day  gift  was  a  beautifully- 
bound  blank  book,  with  clasps,  and  my  name  and 
the  date  in  gold  letters  upon  the  cover.  It  is  for 
accounts  ;  and  on  one  page  is  to  be  written  what 
ever  income  I  receive,  and  on  the  opposite  one  all 
my  expenditures.  At  the  close  of  the  year  the 
whole  amount  of  each  is  to  be  cast  up,  before  a 
now  one  begins.  She  recommends  also  that  this 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  83 

should  be  done  at  the  end  of  every  month,  by 
way  of  turning  more  attention  to  the  subject ; 
for,  if  the  amount  should  be  small  at  present,  it 
will  probably  increase  in  future,  and  the  habit  is 
of  consequence  to  every  woman.  Mamma  says 
it  is  like  a  map  to  a  traveler,  and  she  does  not  see 
how  any  housekeeper  can  do  her  duty  without  it. 
She  wishes  me  to  have  the  writing  very  neat,  and 
the  figures  plain  and  clear,  that  I  may  take  more 
pleasure  hereafter  in  looking  it  over,  and  says  she 
has  found  it  a  good  way  to  keep  the  daily  accounts 
upon  a  separate  piece  of  paper,  and  copy  them  at 
the  close  of  each  week  in  her  book.  The  ladies 
of  England  have  the  credit  of  being  much  more 
attentive  to  the  keeping  of  these  household  books 
than  we  are ;  so  my  dear  mother,  knowing  its  im 
portance  to  the  economical  and  correct  manage 
ment  of  every  family,  wishes  to  form  the  habit 
now,  and  early  instruct  me  in  whatever  apper 
tains  to  woman's  sphere. 

She  also  gave  me  a  smaller  blank  book,  bound 
like  a  pocket-book,  with  compartments  for  money, 
to  contain  the  items  of  charity.  There  is  a  quiet 
look  of  secrecy  about  it,  and  it  might  be  stowed 
away  in  any  little  private  nook. 

The  object  is  not  to  make  a  display  of  that 
which  our  dear  Savior  says  should  "not  be  done 
to  be  seen  of  men,"  but  to  serve  as  a  guide  in 


84  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOUENAL. 

distribution,  and  to  assure  you  of  what  might 
sometimes  be  forgotten — whether  stated  contri 
butions  have  been  paid  or  not.  A  certain  pro 
portion  of  whatever  I  receive  is  here  to  be  record 
ed,  with  the  proper  date,  and  the  sum  placed  in 
the  pocket-book,  to  be  ready  for  any  claim  of  be 
nevolence.  She  suggests  that  a  tenth  be  always 
devoted  to  the  poor,  as  a  sacred  offering  of  grati 
tude  to  Him  who  has  committed  them  to  our  care, 
and  connected  the  duty  of  relieving  them  with 
such  hallowed  pleasure.  She  would  not  limit  me 
to  a  tenth,  but  desires  me  always  to  be  regular 
in  making  at  least  that  consecration  of  all  sources 
of  income,  however  small,  as  soon  as  they  come 
into  my  hands. 

But  oh !  she  said  to  me  so  many  loving  and 
blessed  words  when  she  gave  me  this  counsel, 
never  shall  I  forget  them,  nor  the  affection  that 
moistened  her  eyes  when  she  folded  me  to  her 
bosom.  How  can  I  be  grateful  enough  to  her, 
or  to  the  God  who  gave  her  ?  What  can  I  do  for 
either  to  testify  my  devotion  ?  My  poor  efforts, 
my  best  duties  are  so  inadequate.  My  mother ! 
I  will  keep  all  thy  words  in  my  heart  of  hearts. 
Methinks  I  could  lay  down  my  life  for  thy  sake. 
But  of  Him  from  whom  cometh  all  we  enjoy  or 
hope  for,  what  can  we  say  ? 

"  For  oh !   Eternity's  too  short 
To  utter  all  His  praise." 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  85 

My  course  of  Ancient  History  I  take  pleasure 
in  reading  aloud,  that  my  dearest  ones  may  enjoy 
it  with  me.  Eollin  seems  to  interest  them  as 
much  as  a  romance.  Indeed,  some  of  his  descrip 
tions,  especially  those  of  Assyria  and  Egypt,  have 
in  their  grand  and  peculiar  features  an  air  of  fic 
tion.  Grandfather  is  often  drawing  parallels  or 
contrasts  between  the  heroes  of  old  and  those  of 
our  own  Revolution,  which  amuse  himself  and  us 
all.  They  are  usually  in  our  favor,  and  always 
so  when  Washington  is  concerned,  who  to  him 
seems  as  a  god  among  men.  I  was  reading  last 
evening  of  the  attack  of  Agathocles  upon  Car 
thage,  when,  finding  his  inferiority  of  numbers, 
and  that  he  had  not  arms  enough  for  his  men,  he 
ingeniously  contrived  some  that  were  counterfeit 
to  deceive  the  enemy  ;  then,  to  raise  the  despond 
ing  spirits  of  his  soldiers,  he  let  fly  among  them 
some  owls,  which  he  had  taken  pains  to  procure, 
that  their  own  favorite  bird  of  wisdom  might  be 
to  them  an  omen  of  victory. 

"  So  did  the  brave  General  Putnam  at  Bunker's 
Hill,"  said  grandfather,  "  when  ammunition  grew 
low,  have  barrels  drawn  up  filled  with  sand,  to 
give  the  impression  that  powder  was  plentiful. 
He  did  not  let  any  owls  loose,  for  our  people 
would  not  have  regarded  them  as  the  ancient 


86  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Greeks  did.  But  the  English  were  the  owls  after 
that  battle,  and  had  to  stoop  to  the  new-fledged 
eagle." 


r-  I  am  convinced  that  a  journal  is  an  assistant 
to  intellectual  improvement.  I  think  also  it  aids 
in  the  formation  of  character.  I  should  not  be 

'"""surprised  if  it  made  life  seem  longer ;  for  the  timo 
that  I  review,  even  by  my  very  imperfect  one,  re 
minds  me  of  a  road  where  there  are  waymarks 
and  milestones.  Every  line  that  is  written  re 
calls  events  and  feelings  that  cluster  about  it,  and 
might  else  have  been  forgotten.  It  strings  the 
pearls  that  otherwise,  lying  loose,  might  be  trod 
den  upon  and  swept  away.  I  was  unwilling  to 
begin  it  from  ignorance,  but  now,  if  it  were  taken 
away,  I  should  feel  as  if  something  had  been  lost 
that  was  important  and  appreciated. 


A  journal,  to  have  its  full  value,  should  be  kept 
sacred.  The  thought  that  it  is  to  be  scanned  by 
other  eyes  destroys  its  use.  It  ceases  then  to  be 
a  means  of  self-improvement,  of  solitary  commu 
nion.  The  moment  you  cogitate  how  to  make 
what  you  record  there  agreeable  or  witty,  you  are 
tcmipted  to  represent  yourself  better  or  wiser  than 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  87 

you  really  are,  and  its  end  is  frustrated.  If  van 
ity  or  display  have  any  thing  to  do  with  a  journal, 
they  will  uproot  all  its  usefulness.  I  speak  of  its 
moral  influence,  which  should  always  have  the 
highest  place.  Setting  this  aside,  it  might  still 
have  a  sort  of  statistical  value  as  a  register  of 
passing  events. 


My  dear  Mary  Ann  joins  in  our  historical  read 
ings  when  she  can  get  time  from  her  school,  where 
she  still  continues.  It  is  delightful  when  she 
comes,  for  then  we  question  each  other  about  the 
substance  of  what  we  have  been  reading  together, 
and  sometimes  I  recapitulate  what  I  have  read 
in  the  interval,  so  that  she  may  have  the  advan 
tage  of  all.  It  seems  a  little,  too,  like  an  exer 
cise  in  classics,  which  vastly  pleases  me,  for  my 
heart  still  turns  back  to  school-days  with  a  hank 
ering  love,  notwithstanding  I  am  so  very  happy 
in  my  housekeeping. 

She  was  asking  me  about  my  progress  in  it, 
and  praising  some  jellies  of  my  making,  of  which 
she  begged  me  to  give  her  the  recipe.  Being  in 
her  debt  for  a  poetical  morceau  or  two,  I  thought 
I  would  write  it  in  rhyme : 

Cut  in  pieces  four  calves'  feet, 
Put  four  quarts  of  water  to  them. 


88  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUKNAL. 

Make  them  subject  to  a  heat, 

That  to  two  quart!  shall  subdue  them. 
Strain  the  fluid ;  let  it  rest 

All  night  long  from  toil  and  trouble  j 
Then  from  foot  and  forehead  take 

Sediment  and  oily  bubble ; 
Lay  it  in  the  pan  once  more, 

With  a  pint  of  wine  to  boot, 
Acid  juice  of  lemons  four, 

Sugar  that  your  taste  shall  suit ; 
Beat  the  whites  of  twice  four  eggs 

To  a  snowy  froth  ;  and  then, 
Watchful  at  your  kitchen  range, 

Boil  for  minutes  three  times  ten ; 
Take  it  off,  and  add  a  cup 

Of  cold  water  to  restore  it, 
Pass  it  through  a  flannel  bag, 

And  in  crystal  glasses  pour  it. 


When  you  compound  this  jelly,  friend, 

I'd  simply  hint  to  you, 
From  motives  of  economy, 

To  make  a  custard  too, 
For  there  are  yolks  of  eggs,  you  know, 
Which  'twere  not  well  away  to  throw. 

So  beat  them  all  with  sugar  fine, 

A  quart  of  boil'd  milk  use, 
And  when  'tis  tepid,  stir  them  in, 

With  flavoring  as  you  choose  ; 
Then  in  small  cups  of  china  bake  it, 
Or  in  deep  dish  a  pudding  make  it. 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL.  89 

I  told  mamma  that  poor  old  Mrs.  Dean  sat  on 
a  hard  wooden  seat,  which  did  not  look  comfort 
able,  and  asked  her  permission  to  buy  a  stuffed 
chair.  She  replied  that  ingenuity  and  economy 
were  very  interesting  features  of  charity,  and  that 
this  might  be  a  good  opportunity  to  practice  them. 
So,  by  her  advice,  I  proceeded,  with  such  help  as 
was  needed. 

A  nice  and  rather  tall  flour-barrel  was  cut  in 
the  side,  at  the  right  height  from  the  floor,  for  a 
seat,  the  head  serving  for  the  bottom,  on  which 
two  or  three  castors  were  placed.  The  remain 
der  was  shaped  by  the  saw  of  the  workman  into 
arms  and  a  back;  and,  as  I  fancied  the  latter 
scarcely  high  enough,  I  contrived  to  have  a  little 
frame  added,  and  then  covered  it  with  coarse 
brown  cloth,  stuffing  it  with  cotton  to  such  thick 
ness  and  shape  as  I  chose.  Mamma  gave  me 
dark  calico  to  make  an  outside  cover  and  cushion, 
the  latter  resting  on  strong  pieces  of  webbing, 
crossing  each  other,  and  nailed  firmly  within. 
Ideally,  when  it  was  done,  I  was  surprised  as 
much  at  its  good  appearance  as  at  its  cheapness, 
and,  moved  by  the  same  motives,  went  still  far 
ther  in  the  career  of  constructiveness.  Remem 
bering  lame  Nancy  upon  her  block  of  wood,  and 
having  some  calico  left,  I  made  a  cushion  for  a 
good-sized  tea-chest,  with  a  drapery  of  the  same 


90  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

around  the  sides.  The  cavity  also  made  a  nice 
little  repository  for  her  books  and  work.  Satis 
fied  with  these  labors,  and  the  thought  of  the  com 
fort  they  would  give,  I  thanked  my  beloved  moth 
er,  who  was  the  author  of  both. 


I  never  could  have  imagined  such  a  terrible 
storm  as  I  have  seen.  A  violent  northeast  wind, 
coming  in  blasts,  did  the  work  of  a  tornado.  The 
sky  was  dark  at  noonday,  and  rain  fell  in  great 
white  sheets.  I  thought  of  what  is  said  in  Gen 
esis,  that  the  "windows  of  heaven  were  opened." 
A  wrecking  sound  was  among  the  trees,  and 
away  went  the  fences  like  a  pipe-stem.  Barns 
and  light  buildings  were  unroofed  or  swept  from 
their  places. 

In  full  view  of  our  dining-room  window  was 
an  immense  old  pearmain-tree,  encircled  by  a 
heavy  grape-vine.  I  looked  out,  but  it  had  gone. 
Where  was  it?  At  some  distance,  prostrate  in 
a  field,  its  rich  red  fruit  and  the  purple  clusters 
looking  aghast.  The  mass  of  roots,  with  the 
earth  carried  on  them,  was  higher  than  my  head. 

The  tempest  extended  to  a  great  distance. 
Miles  of  woodland  were  laid  low,  and  streets  ob 
structed  by  fallen  trunks  and  branches.  On  the 
coast,  up  came  the  sea  and  rolled  where  it  never 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  91 

was  before.  A  family  who  lived  several  miles 
from  it,  and  whose  house  was  blown  over,  ran 
into  the  fields,  and  said  the  torrents  of  spray  that 
covered  them  were  salt  as  the  ocean.  Great 
damage  was  done  to  shipping  and  by  inunda 
tions.  The  oldest  persons  remember  nothing  like 
it,  and  I  am  sure  this  storm  of  September  23d, 
1815,  will  not  soon  be  forgotten  in  New  England. 


This  morning  I  found  old  Mrs.  Dean  and  Nan 
cy  seated  in  state,  and  more  grateful  for  their 
comfortable  chairs  than  I  can  describe.  I  carried 
the  latter  the  fragments  of  the  calico  that  had 
covered  them,  cut  into  squares  for  patchwork, 
recommending  to  her  to  sew  them  neatly,  and 
persevere  until  she  should  get  enough  for  a  bed- 
quilt.  Then  came  the  oldest  boy,  wishing  to 
learn  to  sew  too ;  and,  thinking  it  might  help  to 
amuse  and  keep  him  out  of  mischief,  I  instructed 
him  a  little,  and  promised  to  give  him  a  thimble 
if  he  would  work  with  his  sister  and  mind  her. 
I  asked  if  he  should  not  like  to  knit  on  a  stock 
ing  for  his  mother,  to  keep  her  feet  warm  when 
she  went  out  to  work  to  get  bread  for  him.  He 
said  promptly,  "  Yes,  ma'am,  I  will,  if  you'll  give 
me  a  new  book  with  pictures  in't."  I  heard  him 
read,  and  was  pleased  with  his  improvement.  It 


92  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

seemed  as  if  a  desire  for  knowledge  had  tamed 
him.  He  stood  like  a  lamb  before  his  teacher, 
ready  to  do  whatever  he  was  told,  though  so  late 
ly  he  was  as  a  wild  bear  from  the  woods. 

While  pleasantly  busied  with  him  and  his  sis 
ter,  I  observed  the  youngest  boy  standing  in  a 
corner,  with  his  back  to  us,  now  and  then  repeat 
ing  in  a  kind  of  recitative,  "  Old  Tom  and  old 
Nance."  Supposing  it  one  of  his  usual  tantrums, 
I  went  on  with  my  teaching,  till  at  length,  no 
ticing  that  his  face  was  distorted  with ,  emotion, 
and  tears  gushed  out  to  the  tune  of  "  Old  Tom 
and  old  Nance,"  I  asked  his  mother,  who  chanced 
to  be  at  home,  what  was  the  matter.  She  said 
he  was  jealous.  At  first  I  felt  provoked ;  but, 
after  considering  a  moment,  pitied  him,  and  asked 
if  he  would  like  to  come  and  read  to  me.  At 
first  there  was  a  crab-like  movement;  then  he 
slowly  approached  in  zigzag  lines,  as  if  alter 
nately  attracted  and  repelled  by  contradictory 
forces.  Perceiving  that  he  gained  on  the  dis 
tance  between  us,  I  told  him  to  go  first  and  wash 
his  face  and  hands,  and  have  his  hair  brushed. 
With  astonishing  quickness  he  achieved  these 
changes,  and  stood  at  my  side.  He  read  the  al 
phabet  three  times  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and 
when  I  gave  him  a  lesson  to  learn  before  I  should 
come  again,  looked  up  with  a  clear  eye,  as  if  de- 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  93 

livered  from  a  demon,  and  said,  "Now  I  guess 
I'm  as  good  as  Nance  and  Tom." 

Poor  little  heart  of  childhood!   who  can  read 
aright  all  thy  trials  save  Him  who  made  thee  ? 


"  A  place  for  every  thing,  and  every  thing  in 
its  place."  Homely  adage,  "but  most  important. 
A  kind  of  keystone  to  every  orderly  household. 
Daily  I  make  it  the  rule  of  my  practice.  It  re 
quires  close  observation  and  a  good  memory ;  so 
it  is  an  intellectual  exercise  of  value.  Mother 
tells  me,  when  I  go  to  the  kitchen  for  cookery,  to 
put  back  in  its  place,  and  in  a  neat  condition, 
every  utensil  that  I  have  used.  It  is  due  to  serv 
ants  not  to  disturb  the  policy  of  their  empire 
when  we  enter  it  for  the  furtherance  of  our  own 
designs. 


In  meeting  the  varied  wants  of  the  poor,  we 
find  it  a  good  plan  to  mend  thoroughly  any  gar 
ments  we  may  have  done  wearing,  and  lay  them 
in  a  repository  to  be  ready  for  applicants.  Though 
they  are  not  so  useful  for  those  who  labor  hard, 
yet  there  are  almost  always  some  sick  or  old  peo 
ple  who  are  gratified  with  clothing  of  a  finer  tex 
ture.  I  begin  to  like  to  mend  since  we  have  had 


94 

this  object  in  view.  There  is  a  sort  of  friendly 
satisfaction  in  prolonging  the  existence  of  what 
has  faithfully  served  us ;  and,  in  repairing  its  de 
cays,  we  can  imagine  how  the  nurse  or  physician 
feels  when  the  invalid  patient  is  built  up  again, 
or  the  lame  walks.  My  mother  excels  in  that 
ingenious  industry  by  which  materials  for  the 
wardrobe,  or  household  use,  receive  new  life,  or 
pass  through  transmigrations.  Like  the  cotter's 
wife  of  Burns, 

"  She  makes  auld  claithes  look  amaist  as  well  as  new." 
She  gave  me  last  week  several  partly-worn 
sheets,  and  told  me  to  use  them  as  I  pleased. 
Taking  the  strongest  portion,  and  making  the 
others  double,  black  Amy  was  kind  enough  to 
dye  them  for  me,  with  a  little  Spanish  arnatto,  a 
good  salmon-color ;  then,  cutting  them  of  a  prop 
er  size,  and  filling  them  with  cotton  batting,  I 
passed  a  needle  with  strong  thread  through  and 
through,  at  equal  distances,  and  made  thick  and 
good  comfortables,  in  which,  I  hope,  some  poor 
people  who  have  nightly  shivered  will  greatly  re 
joice.  But  a  long  time  must  it  be,  if  ever,  before 
I  can  hope  to  equal  my  mother  in  the  economy 
of  charity.  When  I  see  her  so  ingenious  in  de 
vising  and  executing,  I  often  think  of  two  lines 
in  the  quaint  old  version  of  the  Psalms : 

"Blessed  is  he  who  wisely  doth 
The  poor  man's  state  consider." 


LUCY  HOWARD  S  JOURNAL 

Vv  L' 

I  have  always  been  cheerful,  and  liave  had  ev 
ery  thing  to  make  me  so ;  but  I  never  imagined 
such  a  flow  of  spirits  as  come  over  me  continual 
ly  since  I  have  begun  to  learn  housekeeping. 
Like  a  bird,  I  can  not  restrain  my  song.  Grand 
father  wished  me  yesterday  to  sing  to  an  old 
friend  of  his.  I  did  as  well  as  I  was  able.  "It 
is  not  equal,"  said  he,  "to  what  I  hear  from  you 
up  stairs  when  you  ply  the  broom  and  duster." 

I  wonder  any  young  girl  should  be  unwilling 
to  learn  cookery.  She  misses  a  positive  pleasure. 
The  French  ladies  are  said  to  be  very  skillful  in 
this  science,  and  not  to  consider  it  inconsistent 
with  a  position  of  elegance.  Since  it  has  so  much 
to  do  with  health,  I  wonder  why  it  should  be 
wholly  trusted  to  ignorant  and  wasteful  servants. 
As  yet,  I  know  but  little  of  this  accomplishment, 
but  am  anxious  to  learn  more.  To-day  we  had 
unexpectedly  some  company  to  dinner.  Mamma 
always  makes  it  a  rule  on  such  occasions  to  give 
a  cordial  welcome,  to  produce  the  best  she  has, 
and  make  no  excuses.  Yet  I  fancied  that  a  shade 
of  thought  passed  over  her  mind  on  the  subject 
of  dessert,  for  which  we  happened  to  Ibe  unpre 
pared.  It  was  then  rather  late,  but,  hastening  to 
the  kitchen,  I  asked  Amy  to  give  me  a  quart  of 
milk.  While  it  was  preparing  to  boil,  I  mixed 


96  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

four  spoonfuls  of  flour  with  some  cold  milk,  tak 
ing  care  that  there  were  no  lumps,  and  at  the  full 
boiling-point  stirred  it  in,  with  a  cup  of  sugar, 
and  half  that  quantity  of  butter.  When  all  was 
well  incorporated,  I  took  it  off,  and,  letting  it  cool, 
added  six  eggs  well  beaten,  four  drops  of  essence 
of  lemon,  and  a  cup  of  raisins,  a  quantity  of  which 
we  usually  keep  stoned,  to  be  ready  for  any  emer 
gency.  The  pudding  was  baked  in  a  deep  dish, 
and  when  it  came  on  the  table,  well  browned,  and 
rising  lightly  up,  the  silent  look  of  approving  de 
light  from  my  loved  mother  more  than  repaid  me. 
Besides,  I  was  conscious  that  it  was  not  only  an  ac 
ceptable  addition  to  the  repast,  but  one  that  might 
be  eaten  without  injury,  and  not  like  some  of  the 
rich  sauces  and  confectioner's  compounds,  which 
cause  the  doctor  to  come  at  the  heels  of  the  cook. 


We  have  had  some  company  at  tea,  and  it  was 
the  wish  of  my  mother  that  I  should  prepare, 
with  my  own  hands,  all  the  entertainment,  and 
preside  at  the  table.  It  was  a  simple  matter,  yet 
I  felt  some  responsibility.  Mary  Ann  was  in 
vited,  and  her  cousin  Emily,  a  very  handsome 
girl,  and  Henry  Howard,  to  wait  upon  them  home. 
Mamma  thought  it  would  be  a  good  time  also  to 
ask  Ensign  Conant,  who  was  in  a  part  of  the 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  97 

Revolutionary  War,  and  sometimes  calls  to  see 
grandfather ;  and  Miss  Keziah,  his  daughter,  a 
rather  ancient  lady,  who  keeps  his  house,  and 
prides  herself  upon  her  speckless  neatness,  is 
quite  critical  in  household  matters,  and  addicted 
to  keen  remark.  I,  however,  felt  no  anxiety  about 
any  of  the  eatables,  except  the  cake,  which  I  fear 
ed  might  not  be  quite  as  light  as  usual.  The 
biscuits  were  fine,  I  had  stamped  the  yellow  but 
ter  beautifully,  cut  the  dried  beef  as  thin  as  pos 
sible,  arranged  the  sweetmeats  unexceptionably, 
and  had  an  eye  to  the  making  of  the  tea  and  set 
tling  of  the  coffee.  We  formed  a  glad  circle 
around  the  pleasant  board.  Miss  Keziah  sat  up 
as  straight  as  a  pikestaff,  tasted  every  thing,  and 
praised  nothing.  With  her  long  bony  arms,  cov 
ered  to  the  knuckles  with  the  tight  sleeves  of  her 
dove-colored  silk,  she  reached  the  cups  as  fast  as 
I  poured  them,  so  that  Amy,  in  her  smart  turban, 
ready  to  help  with  her  small  silver  waiter,  found 
herself  superseded.  Finding  that  I  took  pains  to 
ask  each  one  if  their  tea  and  coffee  was  agreeably 
mingled,  or  if  I  should  alter  it,  she  said,  "  'Twas 
a  much  better  way  to  push  round  the  sugar  and 
cream,  and  then  every  body  would  stand  a  chance 
to  get  suited."  I  found  this  quite  a  valuable  sug 
gestion.  By-and-by,  says  she,  in  her  usual  sharp 
tone,  "Miss  Lucy,  what's  your  rule  for  that  cake?" 
E 


98  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Having  a  secret  consciousness  that  this  might  be 
a  weak  point,  and  she  had  fixed  upon  it,  I  was 
aghast  for  a  moment ;  but,  as  it  happened,  the 
cake  was  really  nice,  and  being  assured  by  a 
smile  from  my  mother,  I  proceeded  laconically  to 
answer  her  inquiry.  "  Five  cups  of  light  dough, 
ma'am,  four  and  a  half  of  sugar,  two  and  a  half 
of  butter,  and  four  eggs,  mixed  well  together,  and 
suffered  to  rise  a  little  before  putting  in  the  pans 
to  bake."  "Don't  ye  put  in  no  seasonin'?"  "Yes, 
ma'am,  spices  and  raisins  as  you  choose,  and  a 
glass  of  wine,  if  you  like  it."  "Well,  I  declare, 
if  this  ain't  just  the  best  cake  I've  eat  these  many 
a  day."  A  load  was  lifted  from  my  shoulders. 
Miss  Keziah  had  approved.  I  think  she  felt  hap 
pier  through  the  rest  of  the  visit  for  having  been 
so  amiable  as  to  praise  any  thing. 

A  pleasant  evening  we  had.  Songs  were  sung 
and  stories  told.  Henry  Howard,  who  is  al 
ways  so  polite  as  to  put  every  body  at  their  ease, 
pleased  Ensign  Conant  vastly  by  asking  infor 
mation  about  the  encampment  of  his  regiment  at 
Eye,  New  York,  in  the  early  part  of  the  war,  where 
they  suffered  from  the  dysentery.  It  gave  me 
pleasure  to  see  the  warm  social  feelings  of  the 
aged  gentlemen,  and  that  they  received  such  mark 
ed  attention  and  respect  from  my  young  friends. 
On  the  whole,  all  passed  off  well.  Miss  Keziah 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  99 

was  mollified,  her  father  pleased  with  the  atten 
tion  of  being  invited  and  the  opportunity  of  talk 
ing  about  old  times,  the  young  people  cheered  by 
making  others  more  cheerful,  my  best-beloved  ones 
satisfied  with  my  attempts,  and  I  grateful  to  our 
Father  in  heaven,  from  whom  every  joy  proceeds. 


Henry  Howard,  who  has  a  fine  voice,  sang  at 
our  house,  the  evening  we  had  company,  that 
stirring  ode  of  Robert  Treat  Paine,  entitled  "  Ad 
ams  and  Liberty."  The  first  stanza  runs  thus: 

"Ye  Sons  of  Columbia,  who  bravely  have  fought        [scended, 
For  those  rights  which  unstain'd  from  your  sires  had  de- 
May  you  long  taste  the  blessings  your  valor  has  bought, 
And  your  sons  reap  the  soil  that  their  fathers  defended. 
Mid  the  smiles  of  mild  peace, 
May  your  nation  increase, 
With  the  glory  of  Rome, 
And  the  wisdom  of  Greece ; 
For  ne'er  shall  the  sons  of  Columbia  be  slaves, 
While  the  earth  bears  a  plant,  or  the  sea  rolls  in  waves." 

It  was  affecting  to  see  with  what  enthusiasm 
the  two  venerable  soldiers  joined  in  the  chorus. 
They  felt  its  true  spirit.  Ensign  Conant  sprang 
up,  and  beat  the  time,  as  high  as  his  head.  Zeal 
made  him  young  again.  My  grandfather's  still 
rich  tones  swelled  the  music  with  a  solemn  joy, 
as  though  it  were  a  patriotic  prayer.  I  thought 
it  a  beautiful  scene. 


100  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

At  our  pleasant  little  tea-party  last  week,  we 
had  in  the  evening  some  preserved  apples  and 
cream  handed  round,  which  gave  general  satisfac 
tion.  I  was  requested  by  one  of  the  younger 
part  of  the  community  to  give  the  recipe,  and 
write  it  in  poetry,  with  the  remark  that  it  would 
be  better  remembered.  So  I  have  chosen  a  meas 
ure  of  considerable  amplification,  thinking,  if  an 
exercise  of  memory  was  desired,  I  would  make  it 
as  comprehensive  as  possible. 

Plave  you  any  Greening  apples  ? 
If  you  have  not,  take  some  Pippins ; 
Mark !  I  do  not  say  they're  equal 
To  the  Greenings,  for  they  are  not. 
Pare  and  core  them  very  neatly ; 
Mind  you  do  not  waste  their  substance, 
Nor  impair  their  fair  proportions ; 
Poise  the  household  balance  nicely : 
In  one  scale,  like  careful  Themis, 
Put  those  flay'd  and  heartless  apples ; 
In  the  other  strew  the  product 
Of  the  graceful  cane,  that  yieldeth 
Its  sweet  blood  for  our  refection  ; 
And  for  every  pound  of  apples, 
Weigh  three  quarters  of  that  sugar, 
White,  and  saccharine,  and  luscious ; 
Lay  it  in  a  wide-mouth'd  kettle, 
Cover' d  o'er  with  limpid  water. 
That  same  kettle  of  bell-metal 
Set  upon  your  kitchen  furnace, 
And  your  stand  beside  that  furnace 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL.  101 

Take  with  lynx-eyed  observation  ; 
Still  with  silver  spoon  removing 
All  the  feculence  that  rises 
On  the  eddies,  and  the  bubbles 
That  within  that  tossing  caldron, 
Like  a  realm  in  revolution, 
The  caloric  disengages. 
When  'tis  clarified  and  perfect, 
Plunge  your  apples  in  the  liquid  ; 
Let  it  percolate,  and  enter 
Every  pore,  until  they're  tender; 
Then  from  the  hot  bath  remove  them, 
Ere  their  surface  decomposes, 
Or  their  rotund  form  is  broken. 
Not  in  headlong  haste  remove  them, 
But  with  kind  consideration, 
Cautiously  with  spoon  of  silver ; 
Side  by  side  in  dishes  place  them, 
Glass  or  china,  as  shall  please  you. 
Cut  within  the  fragrant  sirup 
Lemons  from  the  sunny  tropics ; 
And  when  this  transparent  fluid 
With  the  acid  mildly  mingles, 
Saturates,  and  coalesces, 
Pour  it  o'er  the  waiting  apples. 
Serve  them  at  dessert  or  tea-time — 
Serve  them  with  a  smile  of  greeting, 
And  each  tasteful  guest  will  like  them, 
For  their  youth  and  simple  freshness, 
Better  than  the  year-old  sweetmeats, 
Candied,  and  defunct  in  flavor. 


Among  those  to  whom  my  dear  mother  has  in 
dulged  me  by  being  her  almoner,  is  a  poor  mu- 


102  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

latto  boy,  who  has  been  long  sick.  He  lives 
alone  with  his  mother,  and  seems  now  to  be  fast 
declining.  He  is  not  very  intelligent,  and  some 
times  rolls  his  eyes  and  distorts  his  features  aw 
fully.  It  troubles  me  so  much  that  I  dream 
about  him,  and  see  large,  strange  creatures  mak 
ing  up  horrible  faces  like  him,  and,  starting,  wake 
up  affrighted. 

This  morning  I  begged  mamma  to  permit  me 
to  send  what  I  had  made  for  him,  telling  her  my 
reasons.  But  she  said  very  seriously, 

"  No ;  go  yourself,  my  daughter.  Though 
young  and  in  health,  learn  to  look  suffering  and 
death  in  the  face.  By  one  gate  we  must  all  go 
out  of  the  world." 

I  obeyed,  but  with  more  of  shrinking  reluct 
ance  than  I  should  have  been  willing  to  own. 
The  place  looked  as  dreary  as  usual,  for  the  poor 
mother  had  no  idea  of  that  neatness  and  order 
which  makes  sickness  comfortable.  He  drank 
some  of  the  chocolate,  and  seemed  inclined  to  taste 
the  other  things  I  had  brought.  Then  he  mur 
mured  to  himself,  in  a  hollow  voice,  "Angels — 
there's  angels  here ;"  and,  glaring  at  me,  said, 
"  She's  one."  I  asked  his  mother  if  he  was 
crazy,  and  she  said  his  mind  wandered,  and  had 
a  good  deal  of  late.  Then  he  shouted,  "Wings! 
I  see  wings ! "  and,  straightening  himself  out,  with 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  103 

a  great  cry  that  left  his  mouth  wide  open,  ceased 
to  breathe. 

Have  I  indeed  seen  death  ?  What  a  solemn, 
fearful  change !  That  lowly  room,  its  miserable 
inhabitants,  seemed  lifted  up  and  majestic.  God's 
mysterious  messenger  was  there.  He  had  done 
his  great  work,  yet  no  hand  was  seen.  He  had 
taken  out  of  the  dead  clay  the  living  soul. 

That  living  soul  I  While  here,  it  was  little  re 
garded,  being  clad  in  weeds  of  poverty.  Now 
it  sees  what  is  hidden  from  earth's  wisest  ones, 
the  world  of  spirits.  What  will  it  avail  the  man 
of  wealth  that  he  has  lived  luxuriously  while  his 
poor  brother  ate  the  scanty  bread  of  toil  ?  "  They 
shall  lie  down  alike  in  the  dust." 

Death,  the  silent  teacher,  has  thrown  a  new 
light  upon  life.  With  cold,  invisible  hand  he 
hath  written,  "Vanity  of  vanities,"  on  what  the 
world  holds  forth  as  enticing.  God  grant  that  I 
may  never  forget  the  lesson. 


104  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 


Monday,  January  1st,  1816. 

Beautiful  New  Year's  morn,  lead  me  with  thy 
cold,  frosty  hand  to  the^eneficenlGriyei*.  Pleas 
ant,  smiling  birth-clay,  come  with  me  to  His  foot 
stool,  and  implore  His  favor  upon  both  ;  for  "  He 
is  good,  and  doeth  good.  His  tender  mercies  are 
over  all  His  works." 

Father  in  heaven,  I  bless  Thee  for  my  contin 
ued  life  and  all  its  joys.  Fain  would  I  devote  it 
to  Thee.  Wilt  Thou  accept  the  offering  ? 

O  Thou,  who  touch'd  this  sleeping  dusf, 
And  calFd  it  forth  to  life  at  first, 
So  oft  Thy  boundless  love  hath  shed 
Unnumbered  blessings  on  my  head, 
That,  wheresoe'er  my  footsteps  stray, 
I'll  trust  Thee  as  my  guide  and  stay, 
And,  undismay'd  at  storm  or  foe, 
Whene'er  Thou  call'st,  will  fearless  go. 


I  have  for  some  time  been  desirous  to  make  the 
baptismal  vow  of  my  infancy  my  own  intelligent 
act.  I  wish  to  be  enrolled  among  the  friends  and 
followers  of  my  dear  Kedeemer.  The  sacred  du 
ties  that  belong  to  this  character  I  hope  He  would 
deign  to  teach  me.  The  dispositions  that  are 
pleasing  to  Him  may  I  more  and  more  receive, 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL.  105 

till  this  faint,  glimmering  light  shall  become  the 
perfect  day. 


Has  not  the  Savior  commanded,  "Do  this  in 
remembrance  of  me?"  And  shall  I  not  obey? 
Is  my  youth  any  objection  ?  The  divine  injunc 
tion  is,  "Seek  me  early."  Father,  I  come.  Make 
plain  to  me  what  thou  requirest.  I  am  as  a 
little  child  before  Thee.  Say  unto  me,  "  Fear 
not."  Methought  I  heard  a  voice  commanding, 
"Praise!" 


I  have  partaken  of  the  holy  communion.  Side 
by  side  with  her  who  nurtured  my  infancy  and 
him  who  guided  her  own,  I  have  received  the 
symbols  of  dying  and  redeeming  love.  I  saw  in 
their  loved  eyes  tears  of  joy,  and  blessed  them, 
and  blessed  God. 

I  feel  that  I  have  given  myself  up  entirely  to 
Him.  But  have  I  not  been  His  from  the  begin 
ning?  What  more  can  I  be  now?  Only  His 
by  my  own  consent  and  deed.  His  by  the  con 
secration  of  my  poor  services — by  the  open  prom 
ise  of  allegiance  until  death.  Oh,  may  these  not 
be  words  of  course,  but  living,  lasting  principles. 


106  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Is  it  an  illusion,  or  have  I  indeed  taken  a  place 
at  the  table  of  my  Lord  ?  Me,  at  His  table ! 
Have  I  not  intruded  ?  Lamb  of  God,  who  takest 
away  the  sins  of  the  world,  forgive  me.  Shall  I 
not  see  Thy  face  at  last  ?  Wilt  Thou  not  give 
me  the  lowest  place  at  Thy  feet,  among  the  least 
of  Thy  servants  ?  At  Thy  feet,  the  least  and  the 
lowest  place  ? 


What  an  excellent  man  is  our  minister.  I 
have  always  admired  his  sermons,  and  his  pleas 
ant,  serious  manner  when  he  meets  his  people. 
He  makes  no  display,  but  there  is  about  him  a 
character  of  holiness,  which,  in  his  public  services, 
sometimes  brings  to  mind  those  exquisite  lines  of 
Goldsmith : 

"  At  church,  with  meek  and  unaffected  grace, 
His  looks  adorn  the  venerated  place  ; 
Truth  from  his  lips  prevails  with  double  sway, 
And  those  who  came  to  mock,  remain  to  pray." 

Yet  it  is  only  since  I  have  conversed  with  him 
about  my  own  spiritual  concerns  that  I  have  real 
ized  the  depth  of  his  piety.  When  I  first  went 
to  his  study  to  consult  him  on  the  subject  of  be 
coming  a  communicant,  I  was  agitated  and  unas 
sured.  I  told  him  all  my  misgivings,  that  I  was 
not  able  to  point  out  any  precise  time  of  passing 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  107 

from  darkness  to  light,  and  felt  unworthy  to  ap 
proach  with  confirmed  saints  the  table  of  the 
Lord.  He  asked  why  I  wished  it,  and  how  long 
it  had  been  my  desire.  He  seemed  satisfied  with 
my  answers  ;  and,  after  explaining  the  duties  de 
volving  on  a  professed  follower  of  Christ,  inquired 
if  I  were  willing,  if  necessary,  to  bear  self-denial 
or  reproach  for  His  sake,  and  if  I  would  serve 
Him  unto  the  end. 

Afterward,  in  conversation,  for  he  was  so  kind 
as  to  call  and  see  me  several  times  while  prepar 
ing  for  that  sacred  ordinance,  he  was  so  anxious 
that  I  should  understand  the  full  requirements 
of  the  Gospel,  and  determine  in  all  things  to  be 
a  true  and  not  a  nominal  Christian,  that  I  revered 
him  as  an  embassador  from  heaven. 

He  is  himself  a  model  of  what  he  requires 
others  to  be.  His  whole  life  is  devoted  to  the 
service  of  his  Master.  Faithfully  he  watches 
Over  his  flock.  In  every  time  of  sorrow  he  is  at 
their  side.  He  shrinks  from  no  fatigue  or  toil 
for  their  benefit ;  indeed,  it  seems  as  if  he  never 
thought  of  himself.  Though  superior  in  learning 
to  most  with  whom  he  associates,  he  shows  no 
ostentation  or  vanity. 

I  admire  the  arrangements  of  his  household, 
where  simplicity  and  contentment  reign,  and  en 
able  him,  with  a  small  salary,  to  keep  entirely 


108     LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

free  from  debt,  according  to  the  divine  injunc 
tion,  "Owe  no  man  any  thing,  except  to  love  one 
another."  His  example  of  humility,  avoidance 
of  display,  and  industry  in  devoting  all  his  time 
and  talents  to  those  whose  immortal  interests  are 
committed  to  his  charge,  is  not  lost  among  his 
people.  Great  is  our  blessing  in  having  such  a 
faithful  and  holy  spiritual  guide. 


To-day,  February  8th,  is  the  two  hundred  and 
twenty-third  anniversary  of  the  execution  of  poor 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots.  What  a  strange  and  sad 
romance  was  her  life !  A  strong  contrast  there 
was  between  her  luxurious  training  and  regal  life 
in  France,  and  the  rudeness  of  her  native  realm,  to 
which,  in  her  young  widowhood,  she  returned. 
It  must  have  been  like  coming  from  the  sunny 
tropics  to  the  Arctic  Zone,  and  the  bears  too. 
She  seems  to  have  had  no  wise  advisers,  and  to 
have  been  thrown  upon  treacherous  friends.  No 
wonder  that  she  committed  errors.  I  do  not  wish 
to  excuse,  or  speak  lightly  of  them,  but  her  long 
captivity  and  violent  death  make  us  forget  the 
spirit  of  blame  in  sympathy. 

In  faded  beauty,  who  so  meekly  bends, 
Arid  with  weak  step  the  scaffold's  height  ascends  ? 
Why  do  those  stern-soul'd  guards  exulting  bring 
The  daughter,  wife,  and  mother  of  a  king? 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  109 

Oh,  broken  lily  of  the  Stuart  line, 
Unfriendly  blasts  and  adverse  fate  were  thine. 
By  flattery  nurtur'd,  and  to  folly  lured, 
How  deeply  hast  thou  err'd  !  how  much  endured ! 
Slow,  wasting  years  the  captive's  bars  between, 
And  the  sad  memories  of  a  fallen  queen. 
Lo !  one  brief  struggle,  and  one  savage  blow, 
Blot  out  thy  charms,  thy  charges,  and  thy  woe. 


Dear  mother  thinks  I  am  not  sufficiently  cor 
dial  in  my  manners  at  all  times.  The  presence 
of  those  we  like  to  associate  with  will  usually  se 
cure  an  agreeable  deportment.  But  she  wishes 
me  to  keep  in  mind  that  to  every  person  some 
palpable  degree  of  kindness  is  due.  The  very 
circumstance  of  their  taking  the  trouble  to  enter 
our  doors,  and  putting  themselves  under  the  pro 
tection  of  our  roof,  implies  trust  on  their  part, 
and  imposes  obligation  on  ours.  Many  more  of 
these  than  we  imagine  may  have  concealed  sor 
rows,  and  a  secret  longing  for  sympathy.  A  cheer 
ful  brow,  a  pleasant  tone,  an  animating  word,  may 
be  the  medicines  they  need,  and  give  them  strength 
to  go  onward.  She  says  I  am  not  careful  enough 
to  greet  guests  as  if  I  was  happy  to  see  them,  or 
to  smile  when  speaking ;  yet  that  both  belong  to 
the  science  of  home  and  social  happiness. 

How  kind  it  is  in  my  tenderest  friend  to  tell 
me  these  things.  How  much  I  thank  her  for 


110  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

making  me  sensible  of  my  deficiencies.  The  love 
that,  even  at  the  risk  of  giving  pain  to  itself, 
points  out  faults  for  our  improvement  and  ben 
efit,  is  a  true  love,  and  I  am  more  and  more  grate 
ful  for  every  renewed  proof  of  this  affection. 


I  am  so  glad  that  this  day  of  Washington's 
birth,  February  22d,  is  observed  among  the  peo 
ple.  Thus  may  he  be  ever  held  in  living  remem 
brance,  and  his  glorious  patriotism  and  disinter 
ested  goodness  made  a  pattern  to  be  followed  by 
every  new  generation.  I  pleased  my  dear  grand 
father  this  morning  by  offering  this  little  whiff  of 
incense  at  the  shrine  of  his  idol,  in  honor  both  of 
him  and  of  the  recent  return  of  peace : 

Thou,  who  didst  rise  'mid  war's  alarms, 

With  courage  firm,  yet  spirit  meek, 
Still,  like  a  father,  in  thine  arms 

Shielding  an  infant  young  and  weak, 
Until,  the  time  of  trial  past, 

He  tower'd  in  youth's  refulgent  pride, 
With  strength  to  meet  the  wildest  blast, 

Or  brave  the  ocean's  billowy  tide, 
Didst  sometimes  mark  his  wayward  course, 

Perchance  with  secret  prayer  of  fear, 
And  strive  to  give  thy  counsels  force 

To  lure  his  inattentive  ear, 
Look  from  the  realm  of  bliss,  and  see 

His  brow  once  more  with  olive  crown'd, 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  Ill 

His  heart  from  rankling  discord  free, 

While  hope  and  joy  his  path  surround. 
If  joy  in  heaven  more  brightly  burns 

When  men  their  slighted  duty  know, 
If  the  poor  wanderer  that  returns 

Bids  seraphs'  lyres  with  rapture  flow, 
If  there,  in  disembodied  minds, 

One  trace  of  mortal  feeling  rove, 
If  memory's  power  intensely  binds 

One  lingering  thrill  of  earth-born  love, 
Oh,  Washington  !  more  deep  and  large 

Thy  stream  of  deathless  pleasure  runs, 
That  once  this  nation  was  thy  charge, 

And  these  repentant  wanderers,  sons. 


It  is  so  much  easier  to  write  poetry  than  prose. 
I  don't  mean  that  high  poetical  thoughts  would 
be  easy  to  find  ;  but  for  such  thoughts  as  you 
happen  to  have,  rhyme  is  a  great  help.  It  hovers 
like  music  around  you,  and  beguiles  the  toil.  It 
is  like  the  song  the  bees  sing  when  they  are 
abroad  at  their  work.  I  suppose  that  amuses 
them  while  they  are  getting  their  honey.  So  is 
the  rhythm  of  the  measure  to  the  mental  bee,  as 
it  stores  a  little  sweetness  in  its  hive. 


I  think  I  am  in  love  with  my  beautiful  moth 
er.  She  is  so  young  for  her  years,  so  graceful  in 
all  her  ways.  Sometimes,  in  the  street,  we  have 


112  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

been  taken  by  strangers  for  sisters.  This  pleased 
me  much.  We  have  summer  dresses  alike,  which 
favors  the  illusion. 

I  enjoy  her  society  more  than  that  of  any  gay 
companion.  Our  confidence  is  perfect.  I  tell 
her  every  plan  and  every  thought.  This  seems 
to  me  always  due  from  a  daughter  to  a  mother ; 
but  it  is  an  immense  protection,  besides,  from  the 
follies  that  beset  our  way.  Those  who  fail  in  fil 
ial  trust  are  the  losers. 

I  suppose  we  are  drawn  more  entirely  toward 
each  other  from  having  neither  of  us  a  brother  or 
sister.  At  any  rate,  the  affection  which  has 
sprung  up  from  continued  benefits  on  one  side, 
and  gratitude  on  the  other,  is  the  sweetest  solace 
of  my  life.  Then  she  has  so  much  tact,  that, 
though  we  are  so  intimate,  she  never  compromises 
her  authority.  I  should  no  more  think  of  con 
travening  her  wishes  or  opinions  than  when  I  was 
a  child.  It  is  doubtless  among  the  secrets  of  her 
attraction  that  she  ever  keeps  her  true  position, 
and  still  leads  me  by  that  "perfect  love  which 
casteth  out  fear." 


Early  rising  is  such  a  privilege.  Not  only 
does  it  give  you  time  for  your  employments  be 
fore  interruptions  begin,  and  show  you  Nature's 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  113 

great  wonder,  the  rising  sun,  but  it  seems  to  re 
veal  the  deeper  beauty  of  life.  I  suppose  this  may 
be  from  its  cheering  effect  on  the  spirits,  making 
them  throw  a  brighter  sunbeam  around.  I  can 
not  philosophically  analyze  it,  but  I  only  know 
I  am  as  happy  as  a  bird  when  I  rise  before  the 
sun,  and  vice  versa.  One  of  my  school  compan 
ions,  who  better  loved  her  couch,  said  she  "  would 
not  treat  the  sun  so  disrespectfully  as  to  rise  be 
fore  he  was  ready."  This  was  an  ingenious  ex 
cuse,  putting  the  best  face  on  the  matter,  as  the 
Yankees  usually  do.  This  morning  I  was  up 
earlier  than  usual,  and  while  I  was  discharging 
my  household  duties,  with  the  golden  sun-rays 
first  glistening  on  the  windows  and  waking  a 
sleeping  world,  and  the  air  so  pure  and  exhilara 
ting,  my  heart  overflowed  with  inexpressible  hap 
piness.  Ere  I  was  aware,  I  heard  a  murmur, 
"How  beautiful  is  life !  how  beautiful ! "  and  found 
it  came  from  my  own  lips.  Then  I  blessed  Him 
who  had  given  us  this  being,  and  this  paradise, 
his  earth,  and  the  high  hope  of  a  heavenly  inher 
itance,  and  said  with  the  Psalmist,  "  He  is  good  ; 
His  mercy  endureth  forever." 


I  am  much  pleased  with  a  carpet  of  domestic 
manufacture  which  has  recently  come  home.     Its 


114  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL. 

colors  are  simply  black  and  green,  the  latter  very 
prettily  shaded.  I  had  formed  such  a  friendship  for 
the  great  wheel,  that  mamma  told  me,  if  I  would 
like  to  conduct  an  enterprise  of  this  kind,  she  would 
purchase  coarse  wool  for  me,  and  give  me  liberty 
to  employ  such  poor  women  as  I  should  choose 
to  aid  in  the  spinning,  provided  I  would  keep  an 
accurate  account  of  debt  and  credit,  and  see  that 
they  were  regularly  paid  as  soon  as  their  work 
was  done.  In  this  way  I  had  opportunity  of  get 
ting  better  acquainted  with  their  characters  and 
concerns,  and  about  their  children  and  old  peo 
ple,  when  they  had  any,  and  how  they  might  be 
helped  if  they  were  sick  or  ignorant.  This  fea 
ture  of  charity  was  one  of  the  pleasures  of  the 
undertaking. 

I  could  not  help  feeling  important  when  those 
grown-up  women  came  bringing  their  yarn  to  me 
to  be  examined,  while,  with  due  dignity,  I  count 
ed  the  skeins,  and  saw  that  each  had  the  requisite 
number  of  knots,  and  gave  them  the  price  of  their 
labor,  and  they  were  so  pleased  to  be  paid  and 
carry  it  home  to  their  families.  Then  I  felt  the 
truth  of  my  grandfather's  maxim,  that  the  best 
way  of  helping  the  poor  is  through  their  own  in 
dustry,  for  that  saves  their  self-respect. 

By  my  mother's  requisition  to  keep  a  state 
ment  of  all  expenditures,  I  know  every  iota  of 


LUCY  PIO WARD'S  JOURNAL.  115 

the  economy  of  the  enterprise.  There  is  some 
pecuniary  saving,  imported  carpets  being  very 
dear  at  present ;  but  the  principal  gain  is  in  the 
pleasant  excitement  of  the  thing,  the  good  done 
to  the  laboring  poor,  and  the  ultimate  durability 
of  the  article.  Amy,  who  has  given  much  assist 
ance  in  this  affair,  especially  in  the  dyeing,  for 
which  she  seems  to  have  a  native  genius,  was  re 
warded  with  the  superfluous  yarn,  of  which  there 
chanced  to  be  quite  a  quantity.  So  the  indus 
trious  creature  gave  it  to  a  weaver ;  and,  having 
prepared  a  filling  of  woolen  cloth,  or  cast-off 
clothes  cut  in  narrow  strips,  has  made  herself  a 
comfortable  carpet  for  the  upper  part  of  her  kitch 
en,  where  she  sits  in  great  state  in  the  afternoon, 
as  in  a  servant's  hall.  Our  own  new  carpet  is 
fitted  nicely  to  a  back  parlor,  where  it  has  quite 
a  cozy  aspect,  and  grandfather  is  never  tired  of 
praising  it. 


Some  say  that  female  domestic  occupations  are 
unfavorable  to  mental  improvement.  I  think  they 
may  be  so  mingled  as  to  help  each  other.  A  con 
sciousness  of  doing  one's  duty  gives  vigor  to  ev 
ery  thing.  That  versatility  which  can  turn  from 
one  employment  to  another,  and  apply  itself  to 
all  with  zeal,  and  not  waste  time  in  the  transition, 
is  valuable,  and  may  be  cultivated. 


116  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Under  the  smiling  morning's  face,  Emily  comes 
gayly  in  and  says, 

"Have  you  heard  the  news?" 

"What  news?" 

14  Why,  the  great  news." 

"  No,  Emily." 

"  Then  nerve  yourself.  It  is  neither  more  nor 
less  than  this — Henry  Howard  is  engaged.  They 
say  it's  to  a  very  beautiful  young  lady,  the  daugh 
ter  of  some  gentleman  connected  with  his  college. 
For  my  part,  I  think  it  is  ridiculous,  so  young  as 
he  is." 

"How  young  is  he?" 

"  Lord !  I  don't  know.  Somewhere  about 
twenty,  I  suppose.  Don't  he  graduate  this  fall  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Every  body  thought  he  was  engaged  to  you, 
and  said  you  were  made  exactly  for  each  other, 
so  elegant  and  so  learned ;  and  then  he  was  for 
ever  following  you.  I  think  it  is  a  shame  to  be 
so  changeable.  How  silent  you  are !  Now  do 
just  tell  me  frankly  if  you  were  not  engaged." 

"We  were  not." 

"  If  that  does  not  beat  every  thing  I  You  take 
it  so  coolly,  too.  I  expected  you  would  faint 
away.  I  thought  you'd  at  least  be  surprised  at 
the  intelligence.  Perhaps  you  knew  it  before. 
Don't  you  correspond?" 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  117 

"No." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  not  a  real  philosopher.  I 
expected  quite  a  little  scene  this  morning." 

"Did  you  look,  like  the  islanders  of  old,  that 
I  should  have  swollen  and  fallen  down  dead  ?" 

"You're  mighty  polite  to  compare  yourself  to 
the  chief  apostle,  and  me  to  the  barbarous  in 
habitants  of  Melita." 

"I  did  not  mean  any  thing  invidious." 

"  No,  I  dare  say,  Miss  Lucy,  with  your  sweet 
way  of  speaking,  you  think  you  never  did  a  wrong 
thing  in  your  life ;  but  I  am  sorry  for  you.  I 
know  you  feel  bad,  though  you  won't  own  it.  I 
think  you  are  a  little  white  round  your  mouth. 
Sha'n't  I  get  you  some  camphor  ?" 

So,  opening  her  little  green  parasol  with  a  grace 
ful  flourish,  and  bidding  a  pathetic  adieu,  she 
skipped  away  like  the  butterfly  among  the  flowers. 


My  dear  grandfather  is  very  partial  to  Young's 
"Night  Thoughts,"  as  I  think  people  of  his  age 
are  wont  to  be.  I  have  read  the  work  so  much 
to  him  that  I  begin  to  get  interested  in  its  sen 
tentious  style  and  weight  of  sentiment.  Some 
of  its  passages  have  become  familiar,  and  he  oc 
casionally  asks  me  to  repeat  them*  This  is  one 
of  his  favorites : 


118  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

' '  Where  thy  true  treasure  ?     Gold  says,  '  Not  in  me, ' 
And  'Not  in  me,'  the  diamond. 

Gold  is  poor ; 

India's  insolvent.     Seek  it  in  thyself; 
Yes,  in  thy  naked  self,  and  find  it  there. 
A  being  so  descended,  so  endow'd, 
Sky-born,  sky-guided,  sky-returning  race, 
Erect,  immortal,  rational,  divine." 

The  beginning  of  this  passage  reminds  me  of 
those  sublime  expressions  in  the  twenty-eighth 
chapter  of  Job :  "  The  depth  saith,  It  is  not  in 
me ;  and  the  sea  saith,  It  is  not  with  me."  "  It 
can  not  be  gotten  for  gold,  neither  shall  silver  be 
weighed  for  the  price  thereof." 


I  do  not  think  Pope's  Universal  Prayer,  as  it  is 
called,  is  held  in  sufficient  estimation.  Some  of 
the  stanzas  are  very  expressive.  This  is  a  favor 
ite  of  mine,  and  surely  breathes  a  Christian  spirit. 

"  If  I  am  right,  Thy  grace  impart 

Still  in  the  right  to  stay; 
If  I  am  wrong,  Oh  !  teach  my  heart 
To  find  that  better  way." 

Some  suppose  the  petition  implies  doubt,  or 
uncertainty  of  belief.  To  me  it  seems  rather  an 
echo  of  the  apostolic  sentiment,  "Not  as  though 
I  had  attained,  either  were  already  perfect ;  but 
I  follow  after." 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL.     119 

"^^ 

Alas  !  my  blessed  mother  is  very  sick.  She 
was  seized  several  days  since  with  chills,  follow 
ed  by  a  high  fever.  I  am  not  willing  to  leave 
her  for  a  moment. 


The  physician  says  she  has  a  modification  of 
typhus,  which  was  prevalent  here.  Some  of  her 
pensioners  had  it.  I  think  she  might  thus  have 
been  exposed. 


What  a  fearful  disease !  But  her  constitution 
is  so  good,  I  hope  it  will  not  be  long  ere  she  sur 
mounts  it.  I  have  never  seen  her  sick  before, 
and  am  greatly  distressed.  She  takes  all  her 
medicines  and  nourishment  from  my  hand.  I 
would  trust  no  other. 


What  a  comfort  to  have  such  a  good  physi 
cian!  He  is  so  attentive,  so  studious  of  the  case, 
and  asks  minute  questions  of  every  change  of 
symptom  before  he  prescribes.  I  confide  more 
in  him,  because  his  hair  is  gray,  one  proof  of  ex 
perience. 


120  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL. 

A  nurse  !  No,  indeed ;  while  I  have  strength 
to  serve  her,  I  resign  that  privilege  to  none.  She 
who  took  care  of  my  helpless  infancy  so  long, 
night  and  day,  can  I  not  "watch  with  her  one 
hour  ?"  I  have  never  had  opportunity  before  to 
prove  my  love  by  its  nursing  services.  A  stranger 
has  no  right  to  that  honor.  I  am  too  selfish  to 
yield  it  at  all. 


Lord,  she  "  whom  Thou  lovest  is  sick."  Thou 
knowest  it.  Yet,  like  the  disciples,  we  have  lib 
erty  to  come  "  and  tell  Jesus."  She  is  ready  for 
Thy  will ;  but  remember  me,  a  "  reed  shaken  by 
the  wind."  Kemember,  and  have  pity. 


It  is  most  touching  to  see  my  poor  grandfather. 
He  comes  and  looks  at  her  in  her  broken  sleep, 
fearing  to  fatigue  her  by  conversation.  There  he 
stands,  his  head  drooping  upon  his  breast,  the 
statue  of  despair.  Sometimes  he  lifts  his  hands 
over  her  in  silent  prayer : 

"The  God  who  made  the  earth  and  sea, 
Have  mercy  on  thy  prayer,  and  thee." 


"  Out  of  the  depths  have  I  cried  unto  Thee, 
O  Lord.      Out  of  the  depths." 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOUENAL.  121 

More  entirely  than  ever  is  Mary  Ann  my  sec 
ond  self.  A  great  part  of  the  time  she  spends 
here,  filling  my  place  to  my  poor  grandfather. 
She  reads,  talks,  and  walks  with  him,  and,  when 
ever  we  meet,  has  a  sweet  word  for  my  burdened 
heart. 


Our  dear  physician  has  pronounced  the  crisis 
over. 

"  Oh,  God  of  grace ! 

Henceforth  to  Thee 
A  hymn  of  praise 
My  life  shall  be." 


For  two  nights  only  have  I  trusted  my  treas 
ure  to  the  charge  of  others.  I  could  see  that  the 
change  and  the  ways  of  the  watchers  troubled 
her.  Her  nervous  system  is  debilitated,  and  more 
sensitive  than  usual.  I  am  determined  not  again 
to  leave  her. 


How  precious  are  the  consolations  of  our  re 
ligion,  and  the  visits  of  its  ministers  in  such  time 
of  trouble !    Faithful  and  kind  beyond  expression 
F 


122  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

has  been  our  own  spiritual  guide.  His  voice  of 
prayer  beside  her  pillow  breathed  like  subdued 
music.  "  I  come  myself  to  be  instructed,"  said 
he,  when,  week  after  week,  he  saw  her  serene  faith 
and  saintly  patience. 


My  dear  mother  is  reduced  to  a  state  of  almost 
infantine  weakness.  Yet  I  am  so  thankful  that 
she  can  sit  up  a  short  time  in  bed,  supported  by 
pillows,  while,  placing  myself  behind  them,  I  can 
once  more  comb  out  and  arrange  her  beautiful  hair. 


Her  eyes  are  so  much  affected  that  she  can 
scarcely  bear  the  light.  The  doctor  has  advised 
a  simple  remedy,  which  already  begins  to  do  them 
good.  It  is  an  ounce  of  fresh  rose-water,  with  a 
teaspoonful  of  brandy,  and  a  few  drops  of  lauda 
num  infused.  I  bathe  them  often  in  this  with  a 
soft  linen  cambric  cloth.  It  was  fortunate  that 
we  had  our  own  fine  damask  roses  distilled.  The 
extract  is  better,  and  more  fragrant  than  any  we 
can  purchase. 


Our  kind  physician   said   to-day,  taking  my 
hand  in  a  fatherly  manner,  "Permit  me  to  point 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  123 

out  a  fault,  one  that  is  common  to  the  most  lov 
ing  natures.  They  forget  themselves  in  the  care 
of  the  sufferer  until  their  own  health  is  utterly 
sacrificed." 

"Please  not  to  say  any  thing  to  me  against 
taking  charge  of  my  mother  at  night." 

"  That  is  the  very  thing  in  which  I  desire  to 
indulge  you.  I  wish  to  tell  you  how  you  may 
sit  up.  Ah!  now  I  see  you  listen  to  me.  Will 
you  do  as  I  direct  ?" 

"  Be  so  kind  as  to  instruct  me,  sir." 
"  She  will  probably  have  a  long  convalescence, 
for  she  is  extremely  weak.  Her  nightly  rest  will 
be  broken,  and  yours,  of  course.  Promise  me, 
therefore,  that  you  will  every  afternoon  retire  to 
your  own  room,  and  take  three  hours  for  sleep. 
Then  rise,  bathe,  and  dress  yourself,  and  return 
to  her  renovated  and  cheerful.  In  this  way  you 
Avill  be  able  to  hold  out.  Were  your  body  as 
strong  as  your  heart,  there  would  be  no  need  of 
this ;  but  you  are  already  a  little  hollow-eyed  and 
care-worn.  Will  you  take  my  prescription  ?" 
"  Oh  yes,  sir,  if  my  mother  consents." 
"  She  will ;  for  your  good  is  hers,  and  you  have 
fully  proved  that  hers  is  your  own.  Now  you 
are  my  patient,  and  must  hear  me  farther.  Take 
a  little  walk  every  day,  when  the  weather  is  fine. 
Turn  to  the  breezy  hills,  and  fill  your  lungs  with 


124  LUCY   HOWARD'S   JOURNAL. 

fresh  air.  Once  in  the  clay,  also,  when  you  can 
best  be  spared,  leave  your  mother's  room  and  take 
some  household  exercise.  Rub  a  table,  if  nothing 
more.  The  object,  as  you  will  see,  is  the  circu 
lation  of  the  blood,  and  a  new  flow  of  thought  by 
change  of  object.  It  would  be  no  proof  of  affec 
tion  to  her  to  neglect  yourself,  when  she  needs 
the  aid  of  all  your  powers  to  recover  her  own." 

"  I  am  sure  I  can  never  sufficiently  thank  you 
for  your  great  goodness  to  her  and  to  me." 

"  Show  your  gratitude,  then,  by  obeying  me. 
Will  you?  We  shall  see." 


I  have  followed  the  doctor's  advice.  Mamma 
has  so  much  self-denial  that  she  gives  me  up  for 
a  long  interval  every  afternoon.  Faithful  Amy 
is  but  too  happy  to  sit  beside  her,  and  Mary  Ann 
comes  to  read  to  grandfather.  Laying  aside  my 
cares,  I  rest  on  my  bed.  God  gives  me  sweet 
sleep  as  to  an  infant.  Then,  after  a  bath,  I  ar 
range  my  hair  in  the  way  that  I  know  pleases 
her,  and  put  on  one  of  those  pretty  calico  morn 
ing-dresses  which  she  likes,  of  which,  having  sev 
eral,  I  change  them  ere  they  are  at  all  soiled,  for 
she  is  neatness  itself.  I  hasten  to  her  with  de 
light.  We  meet  as  lovers  who  have  been  long 
separated.  Methinks  a  tide  of  fresh,  hopeful  spirits 


125 

flows  into  her'warm  heart  through  mine.  Why 
should  we  not  take  as  much  pains  to  make  our 
selves  personally  agreeable  to  our  sick  friends  as 
to  our  well  ones?  They  notice  more  closely 
than  we  imagine,  and  a  serene  brow  and  cheer 
ing  deportment  are  often  among  their  best  med 
icines. 


I  had  no  idea  there  were  so  many  tonics  in  the 
world.  Every  creature  who  calls  "hath  a  prov 
erb,  hath  a  doctrine,  hath  an  interpretation." 
Each  one  desires  my  mother  to  take  her  own 
particular  favorite.  If  she  did,  I  don't  know 
what  would  become  of  her.  One  old  lady  sent  a 
bottle  of  "boneset"  which  Avould  set  your  teeth 
on  edge.  Something  which  Mary  Ann's  mother 
made  I  gave  with  the  doctor's  permission,  and  it 
proved  useful.  I  inquired  its  ingredients,  and 
she  said,  "  One  ounce  of  valerian  root  bruised, 
and  boiled  in  two  pints  of  water  till  reduced  to 
half,  then  strained  upon  a  dessert  spoonful  of 
chamomile  flowers,  and,  after  standing  an  hour, 
one  ounce  of  the  compound  spirits  of  lavender  is 
added,  and  the  infusion  kept  carefully  corked  in 
a  bottle."  But  the  sweet  air,  which  we  are  care 
ful  to  admit  as  freely  and  frequently  as  possible, 
quiet  sleep  when  she  can  have  it,  and  the  calm- 


126  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

ness  of  holy  trust,  which  is  always  hers,  seem 
her  best  restoratives. 


I  find  her  regular  rest  much  promoted  by  mak 
ing  preparations  for  the  night  quite  early.  Mov 
ing  around  the  room,  with  a  light  flashing  upon 
the  bed,  or  bustling  about  to  get  what  may  be 
necessary  for  comfort  at  a  late  hour,  annoys  the 
mind,  and  disturbs  the  little  seeds  of  repose  that 
were  beginning  to  germinate.  I  doubt  whether 
any  one  who  has  not  been  very  sick  can  imagine 
how  much  inconvenience  arises  from  such  sources, 
from  careless  moving  of  furniture,  sharp,  sudden 
noises,  or  heavy  footsteps. 


Our  physician  says  that  the  nursing  of  conva 
lescence,  especially  after  a  fever,  is  as  important, 
and  sometimes  even  more  difficult,  than  during 
the  previous  disease.  After  the  patient  has  been 
able  to  see  a  friend  or  two,  it  is  not  always  easy 
to  regulate  that  matter.  A  little  social  feeling 
may  be  salutary,  but  all  approach  to  excitement 
is  prejudicial.  If  the  brain  sympathizes  ever  so 
slightly  with  the  disease,  quiet  is  absolutely  es 
sential.  All  my  mother's  friends  wish  to  see  and 
congratulate  her,  and  she  can  not  bear  to  deny 


LUCY   HOWARD'S   JOURNAL.  127 

any.  I  can  see  she  is  easily  tired,  and  it  is  bet 
ter  to  prevent  fatigue  than  to  trust  to  getting  rest 
ed  afterward  ;  so  I  have  become  a  very  Cerberus 
in  guarding  ray  Hesperides.  I  venture  to  refuse 
the  most  intimate  when  necessary,  and  to  shorten 
the  stay  of  the  most  ceremonious.  However  in 
vidious  it  may  seem,  it  is  still  a  duty  to  protect 
her  from  being  "wounded  in  the  house  of  her 
friends."  Who  shall  do  it  if  her  sentinel  falters  ? 


I  have  had  such  comfort  in  feeding  her  to-day 
with  part  of  a  little  bird  that  a  kind  friend  had 
sent  her.  Yet  so  feeble  is  she  that  even  to  take 
this  was  an  exertion.  Her  delicate  appetite  has 
been  of  late  somewhat  stimulated  by  a  prepara 
tion  of  our  good  physician,  which  I  had  better 
write,  in  order  to  remember  it.  One  ounce  of 
pulverized  columbo  root,  put  into  a  pint  of  pure 
old  Sherry,  with  a  little  dried  orange-peel,  and  a 
handful  of  raisins.  A  wine-glass,  or  part  of  one, 
to  be  taken  daily,  an  hour  before  the  principal 
meal. 


"  I  am  glad  you  always  keep  a  calm  and  pleas 
ant  face  in  the  sick-room,  my  daughter,"  said  the 
kind  physician  this  morning. 


128  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

"  You  praise  me  too  much,  sir.  All  the  first 
part  of  the  time  I  was  going  out  constantly  to 
weep." 

"  Yes,  but  you  wiped  your  eyes  and  returned 
cheerful.  I  am  always  telling  professed  nurses 
of  the  importance  of  a  calm  deportment.  There 
are  stages  in  some  diseases  where  loss  of  self- 
command  in  those  around  is  fatal.  The  thread 
of  many  a  frail  life  has  been  severed  by  the  fright 
or  uncontrolled  emotion  of  the  objects  of  its  love." 


I  think  there  was  never  so  kind  a  people  p.  3 
those  among  whom  we  live.  Not  only  from 
friends  and  neighbors,  but  from  those  with  whom 
we  were  scarcely  acquainted,  the  attentions  have 
been  unbounded.  The  sympathetic  message,  the 
fresh  flower,  the  rich  fruit,  the  varied  niceties  pre 
pared  on  purpose  for  her,  have  been  continual. 
The  cheering  influence  of  these  remembrances 
have  been  among  the  means  of  her  recovery. 
Mary  Ann's  services  it  would  be  impossible  to 
recount.  The  wife  of  our  good  minister  has  been 
his  helper  in  this  work  of  benevolence,  and  the 
physician's  whole  family  have  learned  of  him  how 
to  be  kind.  His  son  Egbert,  in  particular,  has 
been  constant  in  his  calls,  bringing  things  that 
were  acceptable,  and  offering  brotherly  services. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  129 

I  think  I  shall  now  know,  better  than  ever,  the 
value  of  every  mark  of  sympathy  in  such  time  of 
affliction. 


Down  to  dinner!  down  to  dinner!  Leaning. 
on  her  father's  arm  came  the  beloved,  I  going 
a  few  steps  before,  carrying  the  pillows  and  blan 
ket  for  her  chair,  and  Mary  Ann  bringing  up  the 
rear  with  a  cricket  for  her  feet.  Amy  stood  by 
the  nicely-spread  table  ready  to  wait,  her  honest 
black  face  radiant  with  joy.  Surely  every  heart 
lifted  itself  on  the  devout  words  with  which  the 
silver-haired  father  blessed  our  food  and  the  Giver 
of  our  life. 

But  oh !  I  had  not  realized,  until  seeing  her  in 
a  stronger  light  than  that  of  her  own  chamber,  how 
emaciated  and  ghastly  pale  she  has  grown.  I 
wished  to  weep  like  a  child,  and  should  have  done 
so  but  for  fear  of  distressing  her.  I  felt  the  tears 
swelling  under  my  eyelids,  and  peremptorily  or 
dered  them  back. 

Our  good  doctor  and  his  son,  happening  to  call 
during  the  repast,  joined  us  at  the  dessert.  What 
deep  delight  must  a  Christian  healer  feel  at  see 
ing  one  brought  back  from  the  gates  of  death 
through  his  instrumentality.  Surely  our  giving 
of  thanks  this  day  was  from  united  souls. 
V  2 


130  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

I  have  made  a  written  list  of  all  who  have  in 
any  way  testified  kindness  to  my  mother  in  her 
sickness.  They  are  her  benefactors,  and  hence 
forth  mine.  Always  will  I  remember  them  when 
I  have  gifts  to  bestow ;  and  if,  in  sickness  or  sor 
row,  they  should  need  aid  or  sympathy,  I  will 
strive  to  repay  them,  for  I  am  their  debtor. 


The  first  ride !  What  an  era  in  our  lives 
when  we  have  said,  with  the  sick  monarch  of 
Judea,  "  In  the  cutting  off  of  my  days  I  shall 
go  down  to  the  gates  of  the  grave."  The  reviving 
invalid  enjoyed  so  much  the  rich  blue  of  the  dis 
tant  hills,  varying  as  the  clouds  floated  over  them, 
and  the  sparkling  waters  dancing  in  the  sunbeam. 
Autumn  kept  back  some  of  its  beauties  for  her. 
In  sheltered  spots  the  golden  rod  waved,  and  the 
purple  asclepias  looked  up  to  greet  us.  The  for 
ests  were  fading,  but  here  and  there  the  maple 
flushed,  and  deep  yellow  and  umbered  brown 
mingled  their  fleeting  tinge  with  the  constant 
evergreen. 


Once  more  at  church  again,  side  by  side.    "Into 
Thy  gates,  our  God,  we  came  with  thanksgiving, 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  131 

ana  into  Thy  courts  with  praise."  Methought  I 
had  never  before  felt  true  gratitude.  I  felt  that 
I  could  give  thanks  for  the  great  sorrow  that  had 
passed  over  me.  Without  it  I  might  never  have 
known  the  depth  of  this  holy,  filial  affection. 
What  would  I  not  do  for  thee,  my  blessed  moth 
er,  who  hast  done  so  much  for  me ! 

Her  sweet,  pallid  face  was  radiant  when,  after 
divine  service,  the  good  minister  came  to  our  pew 
and  welcomed  her  again  to  the  house  of  God.  In 
his  prayer  he  had  given  earnest  thanks  for  her 
recovery.  His  sermon  was  feeling  and  impress 
ive,  and  some  passages  adhered  to  my  memory. 
His  text  was  from  Revelations : 

"  As  many  as  I  love,  I  rebuke  and  chasten ; 
be  zealous,  therefore,  and  repent." 

Afflictions  are  not  always  received  in  accord 
ance  with  their  design.  The  Prophet  Jeremiah 
speaks  of  some  who  had  "  set  their  faces  as  a 
flint."  But  when  grief  presses  the  bitter  tears 
from  the  Christian's  heart,  and  he  asks,  Why  is 
this  ?  Is  not  God  pitiful,  and  of  tender  mercy  ? 
Why  is  this  ? 

Behold,  a  letter!  He  opens  it.  What  are 
its  first  words?  "As  many  as  I  love,  I  rebuke 
and  chasten."  He  is  answered.  He  is  content. 
He  will  strive  to  endure  patiently,  whether  the 
suffering  be  from  sickness,  bereavement,  the  dis- 


132 

appointment  of  cherished  hopes,  or  the  attainment 
of  these  hopes,  and  the  discovery  that  they  are  but 
vanity. 

Still,  is  there  not  something  more  intended  by 
this  discipline  than  simply  the  recognition  of  a 
Father's  hand,  and  the  belief  that  his  frowns  are 
but  the  "  graver  countenance  of  love  ?"  The  les 
son  follows,  "Be  zealous,  therefore,  and  repent." 

Oh,  be  diligent  to  learn  God's  lesson,  ye  whom 
He  hath  in  kindness  afflicted.  Look  over  your 
lives,  your  words,  your  motives.  Forsake  what 
ever  conscience  pronounces  to  be  offensive  to  Him ; 
for  if  one  arrow  is  not  enough,  He  hath  a  full 
quiver ;  if  one  plague  fails  to  humble  the  proud 
heart,  are  there  not  ten  more  ?  If  one  wave  will 
not  suffice,  He  can  make  you  walk  "under  the 
cloud,  and  through  the  sea,"  until,  in  prostration 
of  spirit,  the  wanderer  exclaims,  "I  have  sinned! 
What  shall  I  do  unto  Thee,  O  Thou  Preserver 
of  Men?" 


I  was  greatly  pleased,  as  we  came  out  of  church 
on  Sunday,  to  see  so  many  friends  gathering 
around  my  mother  to  express  their  joy  at  seeing 
her  once  more  among  them.  She  deserves  to  be 
loved,  and  I  am  sure  such  marks  of  love  cheer 
her.  Some  whom  she  had  fed  and  clothed  came 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  133 

forward  to  bless  her,  and  she  took  their  outstretch 
ed  hands  so  kindly. 

"Even  children  followed  with  engaging  wile," 

and  if  they  did  not  "pluck  her  gown  to  share 
her  smile,"  it  was  because  she  smiled  on  them 
without  it.  I  thank  Thee,  our  Father  in  Heaven, 
for  Thine  unspeakable  goodness. 


Henry  Howard  graduated  some  time  since  with 
honor.  He  has  fine  talents,  and  was  always  an 
excellent  scholar.  His  uncle,  who  has  directed 
his  education  since  his  father's  death,  does  not 
wish  him  to  study  a  profession,  and  has  placed 
him  in  a  bank  here,  with  which  he  is  himself  con 
nected.  I  regret  not  seeing  him  as  formerly,  for 
we  have  been  friends  from  childhood.  He  seems 
to  spend  what  leisure  he  has  in  Emily's  company. 
When  I  see  them  they  are  cold  in  their  manners, 
and  distant  as  strangers.  The  rumor  of  his  en 
gagement  abroad  is,  I  presume,  unfounded. 


The  intimacy  one  forms  with  a  Journal  is  re 
markable.  It  seems  as  a  living  friend.  It  is  al 
ways  ready  for  us,  and  has  no  occupation  but  our 
concerns.  As  soon  as  we  have  formed  the  habit 
of  resorting  to  its  society,  it  gets  a  strange  sort 


134  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

of  power  over  us.  It  remembers  for  us,  and  gives 
new  life  to  scenes  and  emotions  which  might  else 
have  been  forgotten.  It  never  speaks  a  word, 
yet  it  has  a  reproving  power,  so  that  we  respect 
it.  If  we  should  persevere  in  evil  doing,  I  think 
we  should  be  afraid  to  meet  it.  I  don't  see  how 
a  very  wicked  person,  if  they  told  it  the  truth, 
could  keep  in  its  company.  I  believe  that,  by 
little  and  little,  it  would  grow  very  confidential, 
and  that  we  might  lay  words  upon  its  silent  brow 
that  would  scarcely  be  uttered  to  those  who  have 
ears  and  voices. 


Our  regular  habits  of  reading  have  been  for 
some  time  broken  up.  Since  dear  mamma's  re 
covery,  we  have  resumed  Marshall's  Life  of  Wash 
ington.  At  first  I  thought  it  dry,  and  the  style 
deficient  in  life ;  but  it  conveys  information  of 
the  most  important  kind,  that  of  our  own  conti 
nent  and  country.  There  may  be  more  fascina 
tion  in  the  history  of  other  climes,  especially  in 
the  far-off  fabulous  ages ;  yet  we  ought  not  to 
be  ignorant  about  the  land  of  our  birth. 

This  work  was  begun  out  of  compliment  to 
grandfather's  taste,  but  I  continue  it  for  mutual 
pleasure  and  personal  instruction.  Mary  Ann 
has  often  participated  in  its  "perusal,  and  this 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  135 

^^Li: 

evening  Egbert  joined  our  reading-circT5r~  We 
have  been  struck  with  two  prominent  points  in 
the  character  of  Washington — his  greatness  in  the 
midst  of  difficulties,  and  his  freedom  from  ambi 
tion.  Secret  troubles  he  had  while  the  great 
burdens  of  the  war  devolved  upon  him,  miscon 
structions,  treachery,  opposition  where  he  least  ex 
pected  it,  complaints  of  the  Fabian  policy  which 
saved  the  nation.  Had  his  motives  been  less 
high  or  holy,  he  would  have  gone  back  in  disgust 
to  the  retirement  that  he  loved.  He  differed  from 
almost  all  other  leaders  of  armies  by  understand 
ing  the  policy  of  peace  as  well  as  of  war.  Many 
heroes  have  fought  and  conquered,  but  knew  not 
how  to  rule.  They  were  at  home  among  the 
thunders  of  revolution,  but  knew  not  how  to  rest. 
They  could  outride  the  deluge,  but  were  puzzled 
when  they  "  saw  the  bow  set  in  the  cloud."  But 
AYashington,  being  placed  at  the  head  of  the  na 
tion  he  had  rescued,  knew  both  how  to  stay  there 
and  how  long.  He  was  not  so  dazzled  by  pow 
er  as  to  aim  to  make  it  perpetual.  To  sustain 
it  was  self-denial.  Far  better  did  he  love  the 
tillage  of  his  ancestral  acres.  He  was  desti 
tute  of  the  selfishness  of  ambition ;  he  sought 
only  the  good  of  his  country  and  the  approval 
of  his  God. 


136 

There  has  been  a  succession  of  storms.  Ice 
clinging  to  the  rattling  trees,  and  snows  heaping 
themselves  up,  as  if  to  stay  forever.  Grandfa 
ther  says, 

"Where  is  Henry  Howard?  Why  does  he 
not  come  with  his  flute  as  he  used  to  do,  and  en 
tertain  us  ?  I  think  him  the  most  agreeable 
young  man  who  ever  visited  here." 

Ah !  I  wish  he  had  not  spoken  those  words. 
He  did  not  know  that  they  touched  a  chord  pain 
fully  vibrating.  There  was  at  that  moment  a 
deep  longing  in  the  heart  for  the  music  that  he 
praised  and  for  the  presence  of  the  musician.  I 
wish,  at  least,  he  had  not  spoken  them  just  as  I 
was  retiring;  for  sleep,  fickle  goddess,  scarcely 
visited  my  pillow,  or  only  in  fitful  dreams,  like 
an  unamiable  traveler,  sullenly  riding  on  a  broken 
car. 


Would  that  I  could  have  seen  my  father,  or, 
rather,  that  I  might  have  looked  upon  him  when 
old  enough  to  have  remembered  his  face,  and  once 
have  lisped  his  sacred  name!  My  mother  has 
spoken  of  him  recently  more  freely  than  is  her 
wont.  I  used  incessantly  to  ask  her  questions 
of  how  he  looked,  and  what  he  said,  but  they  gave 
her  pain,  and  I  desisted.  Now,  since  she  has 


137 

been  so  near  a  reunion  with  him  in  thought,  she 
seems  inclined  to  gratify  me  by  describing  him. 
In  her  limning  of  love,  he  was  a  model  of  manly 
beauty  and  virtue.  She  has  long  since  told  me 
that  my  hair  was  of  his  color,  between  chestnut 
and  auburn,  and  inclining  to  curl ;  and  during 
her  sickness  she  once  said,  when  I  bent  earnest 
ly  over  her,  that  the  expression  of  our  eyes  was 
alike.  If  there  is  any  resemblance,  may  it  in 
crease  for  her  comfort.  In  that  purer  world,  may 
I  kneel  beside  him  and  call  him  father?  And 
will  he  know  the  daughter  whom  he  scarcely  be 
held  on  earth  ?  There  will  be  then  no  separa 
tion,  no  change.  Blessed  clime !  may  I  be  made 
fit  for  it  in  God's  appointed  time. 


The  winter  solstice  is  always  a  point  of  thought 
ful  observation.  Nature  seems  to  be  tired  of  giv 
ing  daylight,  and  fills  the  cup  of  the  year  to  over 
flowing  with  night.  She  calls  us  to  rest  and  re 
fit  for  the  duties  of  a  more  active  season. 

Is  there  an  art  to  stay  the  hours 

That  fleet  away  so  fast  ? 
To  stamp  an  image  on  the  cloud  ? 

To  stay  the  rushing  blast  ? 

We  may  not  check  their  swift  career, 
We  may  not  quell  their  speed, 


138 


For  so  the  Power  that  can  not  err 
In  wisdom  hath  decreed ; 

But  we  may  still  each  other  aid 
In  virtue's  heavenly  way, 

And  thus,  in  colors  not  to  fade, 
Impress  this  shortest  day. 


Shall  I  say,  Wherein  have  I  offended  ?  And 
why  is  thy  countenance  changed  ?  Come  back, 
as  in  days  of  old,  to  a-  friend  who  has  never 
swerved?  Come  back ;  the  lone  spirit  hath  a 
void  place  for  thee  ? 

Shall  I?  or  shall  I  not? 

Be  patient,  restless  heart.  "  In  quietness  shall 
be  your  strength.  But  they  said,  Nay,  we  will 
ride  upon  horses  ;  so  shall  they  who  pursue  you 
be  swift." 


CHRISTMAS. 

Hail,  blessed  morn !  that,  robed  in  gold, 
Look'd  o'er  Judea's  summits  cold, 

And  bade  the  world  rejoice ; 
A  world  that,  wrapp'd  in  darkness  deep, 
And  trembling  on  destruction's  steep, 

Had  heard  no  pitying  voice. 
Then  came  an  arm  all  strong  to  save, 
And  pluck'd  the  victory  from  the  grave. 

In  thee  would  ancient  seers  have  joy'd, 
Who,  gazing  through  the  dreary  void, 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  139 

Foretold  Messiah  long ; 
While  sages  o'er  their  native  rocks 
Star-guided  went,  and  from  their  flocks 

The  shepherds  join'd  the  throng, 
Gifts  at  a  lowly  shrine  to  lay, 
And  listen  on  their  wondrous  way, 

Unto  the  angels'  song. 
Even  I,  of  noteless  name  and  mind, 
This  wild  flower  with  the  anthem  bind, 

"Good-will  and  peace  to  all  mankind." 


There  is  something  very  soothing  in  the  search 
and  linking  of  poetical  sounds.  Sometimes  they 
so  beguile  the  mind/that  the  thought  which  should 
give  them  solidity  escapes.  The  "  tinkling  cym 
bal"  amuses,  and  the  sense  becomes  secondary, 
or  takes  flight.  Nevertheless,  this  writing  of 
rhymes  is  a  fascinating,  and  may  be  a  useful 
thing. 


The  last  moon  of  the  year.  She  goes  wading 
through  clouds,  troubled,  but  tinging  them  all 
with  silver.  They  float  away,  wearing  the  beau 
ty  that  she  gave  them.  As  I  muse  this  evening, 
the  yearning  after  a  father's  love  comes  strongly 
over  me.  Why  should  that  name  seem  dearer, 
more  expressive  than  even  that  of  mother  ?  One 
is  a  part  of  ourselves,  but  the  other — father  !  fa- 


140  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

ther  ! — imbodies  the  protection  wliich  the  help 
lessness  of  our  sex  needs. 

When  they  taught  my  baby-tongue  the  prayer, 
"Our  Father,  who  art  in  heaven,"  I  thought  it 
was  this  father  of  whom  I  asked  for  my  daily 
bread  ;  and  when  there  were  none  by  me,  and  the 
lamp  was  taken  away,  I  lifted  my  head  from  my 
little  couch,  and  said,  "  Father,  come  back.  You 
stay  a  long  time  in  heaven.  I  so  wish  to  see 
you.  O,  father,  come  back." 

I  sometimes  think  that  I  have  seen  him,  so 
often  do  we  meet  in  dreams.  I  stretch  out  my 
arms  to  the  sacred  form,  but  it  vanishes  away ; 
yet  the  smile  is  always  the  same.  When  we  meet 
at  heaven's  gate,  by  that  image  shall  I  know  him 
among  the  angels ;  and  will  they  not  rejoice  at 
my  glad  cry  of  "  Father !  father  ?" 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOUENAL.  141 


Wednesday,  January  1st,  1817. 

My  journal !  my  true  friend !  walk  with,  me 
through  this  year,  if  it  is  to  be  mine,  prompting 
me  to  higher  endeavors  and  a  purer  piety.  Walk 
by  my  side  as  a  prompter,  and,  if  need  be,  a  re 
prover  ;  for  my  own  strength  is  but  weakness, 
and  my  wisdom  vanity. 

Almighty  Father !  remember  me,  in  Thy  great 
mercy,  at  the  return  of  that  day  in  which  Thou 
didst  call  me  into  existence.  Deign  to  look  upon 
the  whole  frame  of  my  nature,  and  elevate  it  to 
its  noblest  ends.  Make  me  more  in  unison  with 
angelic  influences,  and  uplift  me  by  a  prospect  of 
the  world  to  come.  May  both  the  sunbeams  and 
the  clouds  of  this  lower  life  raise  me  heavenward. 

Thou  hast  told  us  of  those  invisible  guardians 
who  "bear  us  up  in  their  hands,  lest  we  dash 
our  foot  against  a  stone."  Grant  me  pleasant 
meditations  on  those  celestial  messengers,  and  a 
likeness  to  them ;  for  they  "  do  Thy  pleasure, 
and  hearken  unto  the  voice  of  Thy  word."  In 
communion  with  them,  and  with  the  holy  spirits 
of  the  departed,  who  once  loved  us  in  the  flesh, 
may  I  find  themes  of  joyful  thought,  and  motives 
to  a  more  entire  obedience. 


142  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Immense  comfort  have  I  in  my  little  conserva 
tory.  It  was  erected  for  me  on  the  promise  that 
I  would  take  the  principal  charge  of  it.  This  has 
been  an  unmixed  pleasure.  Simple  it  is,  and 
small,  but  neat  and  flourishing.  Built  on  the 
southern  side  of  our  common  parlor,  where  the 
window  has  been  made  into  a  door,  the  access  is 
easy,  and  we  can  see  the  plants  at  all  times.  It 
is  especially  pleasant  to  look  at  them  while  we 
are  seated  at  the  table.  Methinks  we  are  more 
grateful  for  the  food  that  we  receive  while  we  see 
them  happy  and  healthful.  Sometimes,  when  I 
give  them  water,  or  move  them  that  they  may 
better  meet  the  sun,  I  think  they  have  intelli 
gence,  and  amuse  myself  with  Darwin's  fanciful 
theory.  I  have  no  great  variety  yet,  as  my  es 
tablishment  is  comparatively  new.  A  scarlet 
geranium  and  great  lemon-colored  artemisia  are 
the  present  aristocracy;  but  my  prime  favorites 
are  two  pure  white  roses,  an  Egyptian  one  of 
the  richest  crimson,  and  a  young  orange,  which 
will  soon  bud,  and  which,  when  I  bathe  its  thick, 
deeply-green  leaves,  seems  to  look  up  at  me  like 
a  loving  child.  The  very  care  endears  every 
plant  that  shares  it.  I  never  realized  how  valu 
able  was  the  gift  of  flowers  until  I  watched  the 
progress  of  the  swelling  blossoms  and  unfolding 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  143 

petals.  Surely  He  who  brought  all  this  beauty 
from  the  unsightly  mould  meant  that  we  should 
admire  and  be  made  better  by  it. 


It  seems  like  a  dream  to  write  we  are  in  Wash 
ington.  Grandfather  had  for  some  time  been 
wishing  to  visit  once  more  the  capital  of  his  coun 
try.  The  physician  said  that  a  milder  climate, 
for  a  part  of  the  winter,  would  promote  my  moth 
er's  entire  restoration.  She,  in  her  great  love, 
fancied  that  I  needed  some  change  of  scene  after 
the  confinement  of  nursing.  She  erred  in  sup 
posing  that  any  service  for  her  could  do  me  aught 
besides  good.  I  have  no  ill  health  to  complain 
of,  though  I  may  not  be  quite  so  buoyant  as  when 
I  was  younger.  However,  the  reasons  were  deem 
ed  sufficient,  and,  as  the  boy  said,  "I  was  born, 
and  up  I  grew,"  they  decided,  and  here  we  are. 


The  capital  of  our  country  is  delightfully  situ 
ated  on  the  noble  Potomac  and  the  classic  Tiber. 
It  is  a  place  of  magnificent  outlines,  which  me- 
thinks  it  will  take  a  long  time  to  fill  up,  though 
our  young  land  has  great  vitality.  Still,  it  can 
scarcely  be  called  central,  especially  when  the 
Far  West,  and  the  large  territory  purchased  by  the 


144 

late  President  Jefferson,  are  settled.  But  dear 
grandfather  will  not  admit  this,  and  persists  in 
giving  it  unqualified  praise,  because  it  was  the 
choice  of  the  "  man  of  men,"  and  bears  his  hon 
ored  name. 


Mr.  Madison,  our  fourth  president,  is  now  near 
ly  at  the  close  of  his  administration  of  eight  years. 
He  is  of  small  stature,  and  formal  in  his  manners. 
He  is  said  to  possess  varied  and  profound  learn 
ing,  and,  when  he  was  Secretary  of  State,  to  have 
produced  documents  uncommonly  powerful  and 
luminous.  I  can  see  that  my  grandfather's  high- 
toned  chivalry  does  not  pay  him  perfect  respect, 
for  having  made  what  he  considers  a  rash  war, 
and  for  his  want  of  bravery  when  the  invading 
enemy  approached.  Yet,  if  "  caution  is  the  bet 
ter  part  of  valor,"  flight  was  on  such  an  occasion 
commendable. 


Politics  seem  to  me  but  another  name  for  strife ; 
and,  as  Falstaff  says  of  honor,  "Therefore  I'll 
none  on't."  One  of  the  privileges  of  our  sex  is 
that  they  may  keep  clear  of  such  matters.  Our 
wisdom,  even  if  we  were  not  Christians,  is  to  be 
peace-makers.  Now  it  is  our  duty.  What  a 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  145 

mistake  to  feel  that  we  are  injured  by  being  ex 
cluded  from  an  active  part  in  the  arena !  Thrice 
blessed  is  our  own  quiet  sphere  of  duty,  where, 
in  making  others  happy,  we  find  our  own  truest 


Every  body  admires  Mrs.  Madison  ;  so  queen 
ly  is  she,  yet  so  full  of  kindness.  She  puts  all 
at  ease  around  her,  especially  the  youngest  and 
the  lowest.  Her  deportment  is  almost  maternal. 
It  mingles  with  native  dignity  a  simplicity  and 
truthfulness  which  at  once  inspire  confidence,  and 
whose  elements  may  have  had  something  to  do 
with  her  Quaker  nurture,  as  she  originally  belong 
ed  to  the  denomination  of  Friends.  Her  brilliant 
complexion  heightens  as  she  speaks,  and  she 
seems  the  personification  of  an  exuberant  benev 
olence. 


Our  pilgrimage  here  would  have  been  wholly 
incomplete  had  we  failed  to  visit  Mount  Yernon. 
We  have  been  to  that  Mecca  shrine.  We  have 
entered  the  ancient  mansion,  where  the  sweetness 
of  domestic  love  and  the  quiet  of  rural  pursuits 
solaced  him  who  was  "  first  in  war,  first  in  peace, 
first  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen."  We  have 
G 


146  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

stood  by  his  tomb.  It  was  touching  to  see  my 
clear  grandfather,  his  venerable  head  uncovered, 
and  tears  dropping  from  his  cheeks  like  rain. 
What  a  wonderful  man  must  he  have  been  who 
could  create  and  sustain  such  love ! 

The  opinion  of  the  Marquis  de  Chastellux, 
who,  being  here  with  the  French  army,  had  many 
opportunities  of  personal  intercourse,  throws  some 
light  on  this  point,  and  is  fervently  expressed. 
In  his  volume  of  travels  he  says, 

"  It  may  be  truly  asserted  that  Conde  was  in 
trepid,  Turenne  prudent,  Eugene  adroit,  Catinat 
disinterested.  Not  thus  simply  can  Washington 
be  characterized.  It  will  be  said  of  him  that  at 
the  close  of  a  long  civil  war  there  was  nothing 
with  which  he  could  reproach  himself.  If  any 
thing  can  be  more  marvelous  than  this,  it  is  the 
universal  suffrage  of  the  people.  Soldiers,  mag 
istrates,  commoners,  all  admire  and  love  him,  all 
speak  of  him  in  terms  of  pride,  tenderness,  and 
veneration. 

"  Still,  the  confidence  he  inspires  never  gives 
birth  to  undue  familiarity.  Rochefoucault  has 
said  that '  no  man  is  a  hero  to  his  valet  de  cham- 
bre.'  Washington  is  an  exception  to  this  maxim. 
Those  who  are  nearest  to  his  person  love  him 
most.  Yet  this  love  is  never  separated  from  a 
sentiment  of  profound  respect. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  147 

"In  speaking  of  this  perfect  whole,  of  which 
Washington  furnishes  the  idea,  I  would  not  ex 
clude  personal  appearance.  His  stature  is  lofty 
and  noble;  his  form  exactly  proportioned;  his 
physiognomy  grave  and  agreeable;  his  brow 
sometimes  marked  with  thought,  but  never  with 
inquietude  :  in  awakening  admiration,  he  inspires 
reverence,  and  his  smile  is  always  the  smile  of 
benevolence." 


We  are  all  so  interested  in  attending  the  de 
bates  of  Congress.  I  fancy  that  I  can  tell  from 
what  section  of  our  country  the  representatives 
are  when  they  first  come  forward  to  speak.  The 
New  England  and  the  Southern  members  have  a 
marked  idiosyncrasy,  and  I  think  the  Western 
men  have  a  freedom  and  bravery  of  manner,  as  if 
caught  from  their  broad,  unsettled  regions.  It  is 
beautiful  to  see  them,  as  brethren  of  one  common 
family — more  beautiful  than  if  they  were  all  alike. 
Legislating  as  they  do  for  the  good  of  the  whole, 
each  has  some  little  sacrifice  to  make,  which  adds 
moral  elevation  to  their  bond  of  brotherhood. 


Above  all  places  in  the  Capitol,  I  delight  to  go 
to  the  room  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United 


148 

States.  There  seems  the  gravity  and  wisdom 
that  would  save  the  republic,  should  it  be  ship 
wrecked  elsewhere.  One  feels  such  a  repose  of 
mind  in  this  spot,  as  if  here  would  be  the  regula 
ting  power  if  things  outside  went  ever  so  wrong. 
I  look  with  the  deepest  reverence  at  Chief  Jus 
tice  Marshall,  so  wise,  so  truthful,  yet  so  simple 
in  his  greatness.  He  has  filled  this  exalted  post 
about  sixteen  years,  revered  by  men  of  varying 
political  creeds.  I  like  him  better  for  his  native 
love  of  poetry,  and  that  he  does  not  despise  it 
since  he  has  risen  to  so  lofty  a  station.  I  could 
not  but  remember  that  in  his  early  boyhood  he 
copied  the  whole  of  Pope's  "Essay  on  Man"  in 
a  clear,  fair  chirography,  and  that  now,  though 
the  highest  judicial  authority  in  our  realm,  he 
never  had  the  advantages  of  a  collegiate  education. 
We  had  the  honor  of  an  introduction  to  him  at 
an  evening  party.  How  kind  and  simple  are  his 
manners,  the  true  dignity  that  knows  no  display. 
I  was  so  enthusiastic  that  I  wished  at  once  to 
thank  him  for  the  pleasure  and  instruction  de 
rived  from  reading  his  Life  of  Washington.  Of 
course,  I  could  not  take  such  a  liberty,  but  was 
glad  to  hear  my  grandfather  express  our  senti 
ments  to  him  in  his  own  earnest  and  dignified 
manner,  neither  saying  too  little  nor  too  much. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  149 

It  is  said  by  the  knowing  ones  that  it  will  not 
do  to  ask  the  President  his  age.  I  thought  that 
kind  of  weakness  was  confined  to  females  who 
had  passed  their  prime,  or  who  are  called,  in  com 
mon  parlance,  old  maids.  The  reason  assigned 
for  this  fastidiousness  is  the  disparity  between 
himself  and  Mrs.  Madison,  some  twenty  or  thirty 
years  probably,  which  it  annoys  him  to  have  made 
prominent. 


It  was  our  last  levee  in  Washington.  The 
great  room  at  the  palace  was  crowded  almost  to 
suffocation.  While  promenading  and  conversing 
with  the  many  acquaintances  we  have  made, 
through  a  vista  in  the  throng  a  pair  of  "  deep, 
dark,  spiritual  eyes"  met  mine.  No  other  could 
have  so  touched  the  inner  pulses  of  the  soul. 
They  conveyed  a  glance  of  unutterable  intelli 
gence.  The  response  was  electric. 

Their  owner  immediately  joined  us.  He  re 
turned  with  us  to  our  boarding-house.  Full  ex 
planations  ensued.  What  had  seemed  so  mys 
terious  was  capable  of  solution.  The  apparent 
alienation  was  unfolded  and  dissolved.  Arts  had 
indeed  been  used ;  yet  I  ought  to  forgive  Emily, 
since  all  has  so  happily  terminated. 


150  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL. 

Grandfather  says  at  breakfast,  "How pleasant 
it  was  last  evening  to  see  a  face  that  we  knew  in 
a  land  of  strangers."  Mother  added  more  sig 
nificantly,  "  Now  Henry  can  attend  us  home ;" 
and  my  heart  in  its  secret  chamber  breathed  some 
thing  about  a  "kome  forever." 

Poor  Emily !  I  wish  she  had  not  done  so 
wrong.  I  need  not  blame  her  for  admiring  at 
tractive  excellence,  or  wonder  at  her  being  will 
ing  to  appropriate  it ;  but 

"  Oh,  what  a  tangled  web  we  weave 
When  first  we  practice  to  deceive !" 


To  one  accustomed  to  the  New  England  cold, 
a  winter  thus  far  south  is  cheering,  and,  I  think, 
salubrious.  Certainly  my  dearest  mother  has 
found  it  so.  Still,  there  are  sudden  and  high 
winds  here — gusts,  as  they  call  them — of  which 
I  am  no  admirer.  If  you  chance  to  be  in  the  op 
position,  and  on  foot,  it  is  no  trifle  to  surmount 
them  with  hat  on  head. 

I  believe  the  weather  is  considered  uncommon 
ly  mild,  and  the  season  precocious.  The  aspen- 
tree  has  hung  out  its  long,  drooping  tassels,  and 
the  grass  is  green  by  the  side  of  the  pavements, 
and  in  sheltered  places  of  the  fields.  The  leaves 
of 'the  lilac  are  already  "larger  than  a  mouse's 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  151 

ear,"  to  borrow  the  comparison  of  our  poor  In 
dians.  The  snowdrop  and  crocus  lift  their  beau 
tiful  heads  among  the  gardens.  I  hope  they  may 
not  have  crept  forth  too  soon  from  their  safe  re 
treats,  lured  by  the  fickle  air  and  wintry  sun 
beam.  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  them  laid  low 
by  the  Frost  King,  sweet,  trusting  innocents. 


We  have  decided  to  leave  before  the  inaugura 
tion  of  the  new  president,  Mr.  Monroe,  on  the 
fourth  of  March.  It  is  necessary  for  us  to  be  at 
home  soon  after  that  period,  and  we  would  like 
to  have  a  little  time  for  the  intervening  cities, 
through  which  we  passed  in  a  hurried  manner  on 
our  way  to  the  capital.  Besides,  we  are  filled  to 
surfeiting  with  show  and  pomp,  and  do  not  care 
to  mingle  with  the  throng  of  a  still  more  gorgeous 
pageant. 


Baltimore  has  a  pleasant  location  and  some  fine 
buildings.  I  heard  it  remarked  that  the  illumi 
nation  for  peace,  some  two  years  since,  was  more 
striking  here  than  in  most  of  our  cities,  from  its 
boldly  undulating  surface,  and  the  position  of  its 
edifices. 

More  and  more  am  I  attracted  by  the  ease  of 


152  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

manner  and  hospitality  of  the  Southern  people. 
It  is  not  possible  to  retain  the  feelings  of  a 
stranger  among  them.  We  at  the  North  have,  I 
trust,  as  much  heart,  but  we  do  not  show  it  as 
readily,  or  succeed  as  well  in  drawing  out  that 
of  others. 


I  shall  always  be  so  happy  to  have  had  the 
opportunity  of  seeing  the  venerable  Charles  Car 
roll  of  Carrollton,  who  chanced  to  be  in  this  city. 
None  would  suppose  him  to  have  numbered  four 
score  years,  so  slightly  has  time  marked  him,  and 
so  cheerfully  does  he  enter  into  the  pleasures  of 
others.  A  finished  gentleman  is  he,  with  the 
courtliness  acquired  by  intercourse  with  foreign 
lands,  having  been  sent  to  France  at  the  age  of 
eight  for  education,  and  continuing  there  and  in 
England,  in  legal  studies,  and  in  wider  European 
travel,  until  mature  manhood.  His  talents,  wealth, 
and  personal  influence  were  freely  devoted  to  the 
liberties  of  our  country,  and  his  signature  to  the 
declaration  of  our  independence  was  given  with 
a  firm  hand  and  full  knowledge  of  what  he  haz 
arded.  He  retired  from  his  seat  in  the  Senate 
of  the  United  States  more  than  twenty  years 
since,  that  he  might  enjoy  the  quiet  of  home, 
where  he  is  surrounded  by  all  that  domestic  hap- 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL.  153 

piness,  elegant  hospitality,  and  universal  respect 
can  bestow.  Long  may  he  live  to  enjoy  these 
blessings. 


"And  Penn's  thronged  city  cast  a  cheerful  gleam.'* 
So  sang  the  author  of  the  "  Columbiad,"  Joel 
Barlow,  who  was  sent  on  an  embassy  to  France 
by  President  Madison,  and  died  only  four  years 
since  at  a  Polish  village.  We  were  reminded  of 
him,  and  this  little  strain  from  his  lyre,  by  enter 
ing  Philadelphia  in  the  evening.  Methought  the 
spirit  of  William  Penn,  that  great  and  good  man, 
still  hovered  there. 


I  very  much  like  this  city  of  Brotherly  Love. 
Its  perfect  regularity  pleases  me.  How  beauti 
fully  it  sits  between  its  two  fair  rivers,  the  Dela 
ware  and  Schuylkill !  The  quietness  of  the  peo 
ple,  and  the  frequent  appearance  of  the  Quaker 
costume,  please  me.  I  think  I  have  an  inherent 
love^of  that  sect.  Their  perfect  neatness,  the 
neutral  tints  that  they  patronize,  their  rescue  of 
time  and  thought  from  show  and  fashion,  and  the 
familiar  friendliness  of  the  plain  language,  agree 
with  my  taste,  and  seem  favorable  to  repose  of 
mind  and  contentment. 

G2 


154  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL. 

Good,  venerable  Bishop  White,  I  shall  not 
soon  forget  him.  Through  his  acquaintance  with 
Henry's  uncle,  we  had  the  pleasure  of  an  inter 
view.  Though  scarcely  seventy,  his  patriarchal 
manner,  and  the  silvery  whiteness  of  his  hair, 
give  him  the  appearance  of  more  advanced  age. 
His  aspect  and  saintly  life  would  win  the  most 
thoughtless  to  admire  the  "  beauty  of  holiness." 
His  smile,  and  the  sweetness  of  his  fatherly  words, 
will  dwell  among  my  most  cherished  memories, 
the  finishing  tint  of  the  picture  which  this  noble 
city  has  given  my  heart. 


We  have  met  no  person  in  New  York  with 
whom  our  whole  group  have  been  more  entirely 
delighted  than  Colonel  Trumbull,  the  soldier- 
painter,  "him  of  the  pencil,  the  pen,  and  the 
sword,"  as  he  has  been  well  styled.  His  perfect 
courtesy  adds  grace  to  all  he  says,  and  his  con 
versation  is  by  no  means  restricted  to  subjects  of 
art,  but  has  gained  richness  and  variety  by  res 
idence  in  foreign  lands.  He  is  fair  in  counte 
nance  and  graceful  in  person,  bearing  no  trace 
of  time,  though  he  must  be  at  least  sixty.  He 
is  engaged  on  four  large  national  pictures  for  the 
rotunda  of  the  Capitol  at  Washington.  Being 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL.  155 

president  of  the  American  Academy  of  the  Fine 
Arts,  he  politely  took  us  to  see  its  collection  of 
paintings  and  sculptures. 

His  wife,  who  is  an  English  lady,  accompanied 
us.  We  were  told  that  he  was  made  captive  by 
her  beauty,  but  that  has  passed  away.  Her  dress 
and  manners  were  both  peculiar.  Objections  were 
made  to  the  way  in  which  the  light  fell  upon  one 
of  her  husband's  pictures,  which  had  been  newly 
placed  on  the  walls.  Calling  his  attention  to  it, 
she  exclaimed, 

"Look!  look!  God  Almighty  only  knows 
why  they  have  seen  fit  to  hang  it  here." 

Not  being  accustomed  to  hear  emotion  thus  ex 
pressed,  I  think  I  looked  surprised,  and  the  gen 
tlemanly  artist  strove  to  efface  the  impression  by 
pointing  out  and  commenting  upon  other  works 
of  genius. 


Two  pictures  from  Trumbull's  pencil  attracted 
me — one  the  knighting  of  De  Wilton,  suggested 
by  a  description  in  Scott's  "  Marmion,"  the  other 
a  scene  from  the  "Lady  of  the  Lake."  The  lat 
ter  depicts  Douglas  in  his  exile,  speaking  to  Mal 
colm  of  Ellen,  who  at  a  little  distance,  playing 
with  Lufra,  her  favorite  dog,  still  seems  listening 
to  the  conversation  of  her  father  and  lover.  The 
surrounding  scenery  is  wild  and  Scottish. 


156  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Whose  is  that  lofty  form,  which,  mark'd  by  time, 
Stands,  like  the  forest-king,  pre-eminent, 
And  bends,  but  not  decays  ?    We  breathe  the  name 
Of  Douglas,  Scotia's  peer. 

Fast  by  his  side 

The  noble  Malcolm,  beautiful  and  brave, 
In  the  transparency  of  honor  stands, 
Lover  and  hero.     And  that  maiden  fair, 
Withdrawn  a  little  space — her  tell-tale  eye 
Listening,  yet  speaking  too,  reveals  the  truth 
That  neither  Lufra,  seeking  her  caress, 
Nor  yet  the  falcon  perching  on  her  wrist, 
Absorb  the  heart's  attention. 

Allan,  too, 

The  poor  old  harper,  sorrow-bent,  and  rapt 
In  scenes  of  other  days,  still  wakes  the  strain 
To  cheer  his  exiled  chieftain. 

Hark !  with  shout 

Of  revelry  and  pride,  the  stately  barge 
Of  Roderick  cuts  the  wave.     The  rapid  stroke 
Of  Highland  oars  keeps  measure  to  the  song, 
" Row,  vassals,  row!1'  while  the  exulting  praise 
Of  that  grim  warrior  bursts  from  cave  and  glen 
Of  the  wild  trosachs,  or  in  softened  tones 
Floats  o'er  Loch  Katrine's  bosom  pure  and  blue. 


What  a  busy,  bustling  city  is  this  same  New 
York !  How  full  of  vitality  and  progress.  The 
people  hurry  through  Broadway  as  if  there  was 
a  bailiff  at  their  heels.  I  wonder  how  they  got 
into  this  fast  way  of  walking.  Not  from  their 
Dutch  ancestors,  I  fancy,  The  grave  old  bur- 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL.  157 

gomasters  and  thrifty  vrows,  could  they  trundle 
about  here  again,  would  scarcely  believe  this  to 
have  ever  been  New  Amsterdam. 

Immense  capacities  for  commerce  has  this  pow 
erful  metropolis.  Already  it  numbers  one  hund 
red  and  twenty  thousand  inhabitants.  Grand 
father  says  that,  before  the  Revolution,  Boston 
and  even  Newport  had  precedence ;  but  since 
that  period  its  growth  has  been  astonishing.  Per 
haps  nothing  will  limit  it  but  the  island  on  which 
it  stands.  I  am  bewildered  by  its  unresting  ac 
tivities  ;  the  more  so  for  having  just  come  from 
Philadelphia,  where  people  take  time  to  sleep, 
and  sometimes  to  think  too.  Men  from  all  re 
gions  of  the  earth  congregate  here,  and  all,  with 
one  consent,  agree  in  chasing  each  other. 

Some  noble  institutions  I  have  visited  in  this 
city,  and  am  glad  of  the  opportunity  of  seeing 
them.  I  was  thankful  for  safe  arrival  in  it,  and 
more  especially  thankful  to  get  safely  out. 


Home!  sweet,  sweet  home!  how  doubly  de 
lightful  after  absence!  However  much  a  visit 
may  have  been  enjoyed,  one  of  its  greatest  gains 
is  the  heightened  value  of  home.  We  know  bet 
ter  how  to  estimate  its  daily  comforts,  and  come 
back  with  new  vigor  to  its  duties.  Even  its  hu- 


158 

mility  seems  to  endear  it.  We  may  have  ad 
mired  lofty  mansions,  and  their  luxurious  ap 
pointments,  where  it  is  proper  they  should  exist ; 
but  we  would  not  wish  to  appropriate  them,  with 
all  their  show  and  care.  In  neat,  plain  apart 
ments  there  is  more  of  quiet  comfort,  at  least  to 
me.  We  admire  the  green-house  exotics,  and  to 
visit  the  kingly  magnolia,  but  we  kneel  down  by 
the  lily  of  the  vale,  or  the  violet  in  our  own  gar 
den,  and  press  our  lips  to  the  woodbine  that 
climbs  over  the  door.  Thankful  to  have  been 
permitted  to  see  the  high  places  of  my  own  land, 
peopled  and  made  glorious  as  they  are  by  the 
great  and  the  good,  my  heart  overflows  to  Him 
who  hath  guided  and  restored  us,  and  I  enter  these 
my  lowly  "gates  with  praise." 


Dear  Mary  Ann's  face,  as  she  stood  at  our  door 
to  receive  us,  was  as  the  face  of  an  angel.  And 
good  Amy  in  her  gladness,  "though  black,  was 
comely."  Of  what  consequence  is  color  where 
the  loving  heart  is  right  ? 


Our  engagement  is  completed.  It  has  been 
fully  sanctioned  by  my  beloved  mother  and  grand 
father,  and  by  Henry's  uncle,  who  has  long  been 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  159 

his  sole  guardian.  Their  affectionate  consent  and 
blessing  have  added  greatly  to  our  happiness. 
The  love  that  has  been  in  our  hearts  from  early 
years,  and  almost  unconsciously  "grown  with 
our  growth,"  until  it  became  entwined  with  the 
fibres  of  our  being,  has  been  solemnly  confirmed 
in  words  and  in  the  fear  of  God.  My  whole 
soul  praises  Him  for  his  great  goodness. 


My  dear  grandfather  says  that  the  entrance  of 
true  love  into  any  house,  or  its  increase  there,  is 
a  blessing  to  all  who  dwell  in  it.  So  may  the 
fountain  here  opened  in  our  hearts  ever  shed  re 
freshing,  cheering  influences  upon  those  who  have 
nurtured  ours — all  who  have  been  kind  to  us — 
all  who  may  need  our  kindness. 


I  know  not  how  I  could  ever  have  been  worthy 
of  the  love  of  so  pure  and  ardent  a  heart,  such  a 
vigorous  and  accomplished  mind.  Indeed,  I  am 
not  worthy.  It  is  God's  unbounded  mercy.  A 
new  strength  seems  to  have  inspired  me,  as  if  all 
life's  troubles  would  be  light,  all  its  clouds  sil 
ver-lined,  through  the  aid  of  this  kindred  spirit. 


160  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

I  am  so  pleased  to  have  relations.  Henry's 
uncle,  who  resides  near  us,  has  adopted  me  into 
his  affections ;  and  his  only  brother  and  wife, 
though  far  off,  have  written  and  welcomed  me  as  a 
sister.  I  have  always  been  hankering  after  rela 
tives,  because  I  had  so  few,  and  have  tried  to  make 
various  friends  into  brothers  and  sisters,  and  hunt 
ed  for  years  even  to  find  a  twentieth  cousin.  Now 
I  feel  as  if  I  was  "  suddenly  made  rich  and  my 
glory  increased."  May  the  Giver  of  all  these 
treasures  grant  me  wisdom  to  make  a  right  im 
provement  of  them. 


The  voice  of  the  early  bluebird !  His  bright 
plumage  gleams  through  the  budding  branches. 
Methinks  there  was  never  so  tuneful  a  carol,  so 
fair  a  spring.  To  admire  the  beautiful  things  of 
nature  does  us  good.  Was  not  beauty  so  pro 
fusely  scattered  in  our  paths  to  make  us  better  ? 
Its  perception  seems  the  most  active  in  the  purest 
hearts. 


Many  friends  call  to  congratulate  us  on  our  be 
trothal.  They  kindly  express  an  opinion  that 
there  is  in  it  a  fitness  and  congeniality.  It  adds 
to  our  enjoyment  to  find  an  important  decision 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL.  161 

thus  approved,  and  to  "be  bidden  God-speed  both 
by  "old  men  and  maidens,  young  men  and  chil 
dren." 


We  have  had  some  company  to  dine — two 
of  my  grandfather's  friends  from  Washington, 
who  were  passing  through  town,  and  to  whom  he 
wished  to  pay  respect.  Henry's  uncle  and  him 
self,  our  good  minister  and  his  lady,  and  my  loved 
Mary  Ann,  were  of  the  party.  More  of  prepara 
tion  and  circumstance  attended  this  than  any  of 
our  previous  hospitalities.  Mamma  trusted  the 
whole  to  my  arrangement,  but  was  kindly  ready 
with  advice  and  aid.  Every  thing  went  off  well, 
and  I  was  repaid  for  all  exertion  by  seeing  the 
guests  so  happy. 

I  could  not  help  remembering,  with  a  secret 
risibility,  my  former  anxiety  when  we  had  only 
two  or  three  people  at  tea,  and  my  terror  when 
Miss  Keziah  Ensign's  sharp  eyes  inspected  my 
housekeeping.  Now,  though  there  was  vastly 
more  responsibility,  I  was  entirely  at  ease.  Why  ? 
A  pair  of  dark  eyes  might  answer  if  they  would. 
Their  approving  glance  was  on  me  at  the  right 
times.  Whenever  I  needed  a  little  aid,  they  knew 
it,  and  threw  me  strength.  Their  owner  was  so 
considerate  as  to  send  his  uncle's  serving-man, 


162  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

who  is  an  accomplished  waiter,  to  assist  at  the 
table,  so  that  care  was  taken  from  my  mind. 
Continually  do  I  feel  how  true  love  gives  energy 
for  every  duty,  as  well  as  zest  to  every  joy. 


Emily  appears  shy  and  crestfallen.  I  hope  to 
convince  her  that  I  am  neither  offended  nor  dis 
posed  to  exult.  I  can  not  help  pitying  her  that 
she  should  have  been  tempted  to  such  inventions 
and  crooked  ways.  If  she  feels  any  compunction, 
it  may  be  salutary.  But  that  is  her  own  soul's 
concern.  Sometimes  I  wish  there  was  another 
lover  equally  perfect  for  her,  and  that  she  might 
have  the  grace  to  meet  him  in  ways  of  truth. 

On  the  whole,  we  are  both  indebted  to  her,  for 
we  might  not  so  soon  have  discovered  the  depth 
of  our  mutual  affection  if  she  had  not  probed  our 
hearts  according  to  her  own  fashion.  I  hope  we 
shall  take  pains  to  show  ourselves  friendly  when 
proper  occasions  offer ;  for,  inasmuch  as  she  has 
sustained  loss,  she  needs  sympathy. 


The  first  arbutus  of  the  year,  brought  me  by 
a  hand  most  dear.  Afterward  we  went  in  search 
of  more  in  the  surrounding  woods,  accompanied 
by  Mary  Ann  and  Egbert.  It  seemed  to  have 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  163 

put  itself  away  more  cunningly  than  usual,  "but 
the  ointment  of  its  right  hand  bewrayed  it." 
Among  the  decayed  vegetation  of  the  last  year 
and  the  young  springing  turf  we  found  it,  hiding 
under  its  dark  leaf,  and  got  enough  for  the  mantel 
vases  and  to  fill  the  house  with  fragrance. 


Of  all  kinds  of  exercise  I  prefer  the  equestrian. 
It  gives  such  a  sense  of  power  to  rule  a  noble 
animal,  and  be  fearlessly  borne  by  him  through 
rural  scenery,  where  the  sweet  air  lifts  up  the 
heart  to  the  Maker  of  this  wonderful  frame  of 
Nature. 

I  have  thought  that  the  officers  of  the  Revolu 
tion  rode  better  than  other  men.  My  grandfather, 
even  now,  manages  the  most  spirited  horse  with 
address  and  elegance.  He  has  heretofore  instruct 
ed  me  how  to  keep  my  seat,  and  criticised  all  indi 
cations  of  awkwardness  or  fear.  We  have  ridden 
much  together,  and  I  hope  may  long  continue  to 
do  so.  To-day  he  declined  going,  and  proposed 
to  another  person  to  take  his  place.  Who  was 
that  other  person  ? 

Oh !  but  we  had  a  delightful  time,  though  his 
horsemanship  is  less  elegant  than  that  of  my  for 
mer  companion.  Amid  the  retired  haunts  that 
Spring  is  beautifying,  it  was  like  music  to  hear 


164  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL. 

his  rich  voice  break  forth  in  that  exquisite  stanza 
from  the  Minstrel, 

"Ah!  how  canst  thou  renounce  the  boundless  store 

Of  charms  that  Nature  to  her  votary  yields  ? 
The  warbling  woodland,  the  resounding  shore, 

The  pomp  of  groves  and  garniture  of  fields — 
All  that  the  genial  ray  of  morning  yields, 

And  all  that  echoes  to  the  song  of  even, 
All  that  the  mountain's  sheltering  bosom  shields, 

And  all  the  dread  magnificence  of  Heaven  ? 
Ah!  how  canst  thou  renounce,  and  hope  to  be  forgiven?" 

This  poem  of  Beattie,  which  abounds  with  fine 
passages  and  the  purest  morality,  never  seems  to 
me  to  have  been  fully  appreciated.  Henry  ad 
mires,  with  me,  the  Spenserian  stanza.  The  clos 
ing  Alexandrine  gives  force  to  a  grand  thought, 
if  there  happen  to  be  one  to  bring  out.  Thomson 
has  shown  that  he  could  easily  wield  this  elabo 
rate  measure  in  his  "Castle  of  Indolence."  Some 
parts  of  that  poem  I  can  never  read  without  wish 
ing  to  go  to  sleep,  so  soothing  are  its  lullaby  melo 
dies. 


Henry  has  from  boyhood  desired  to  study  a 
profession,  and  thinks  his  bachelor  uncle  very 
arbitrary  to  overrule  him  in  a  thing  of  this  nature. 
But  he  has  long  claimed  the  authority  of  a  father, 
and  possesses  a  great  share  of  worldly  prudence. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  165 

He  says  the  necessities  of  this  young  country  are 
for  men  of  action  rather  than  of  sedentary  thought ; 
that  Henry  can  do  more  good  in  his  day  and  gen 
eration  by  adhering  to  the  former  class ;  and  he 
prefers  his  entering  the  banking  business.  He 
adds  that  he  regarded  his  native  thirst  for  knowl 
edge  by  giving  him  a  liberal  education,  which  will 
be  of  value  to  him  in  all  positions,  and  that  the 
world  of  books  being  widely  open  to  him,  he  will 
always  be  adding  to  his  mental  stores.  I  trust 
Henry  will  acquiesce  in  this  reasoning,  as  he  has 
already  signalized  his  obedience  from  early  years. 


Summer  moon,  so  queenly  fair, 

Gliding  through  the  waveless  air, 

Peering  through  the  trellised  vine, 

And  the  fragrant  eglantine, 

Thou  hast  ever  seem'd  to  be 

As  a  chosen  friend  to  me  ; 

O'er  my  childhood's  couch  wouldst  steal, 

Kindly  asking  of  my  weal ; 

To  my  hour  of  lonely  thought 

Thou  hast  pleasant  musings  brought ; 

Smiling  now,  thou  seem'st  to  shine — 

Dost  thou  know  whose  heart  is  mine? 

Summer  moon,  with  silver  ray, 

Sweetly  calm  pursue  thy  way, 

Through  the  cloud  and  through  the  blue, 

Ever  to  thy  duty  true ; 

Teach  thy  Maker's  love  and  might 

To  each  watcher  of  the  night — 


166  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

He  who,  mid  the  starry  plain, 
Duly  bids  thee  wax  and  wane. 
Is  it  arrogance  in  me 
Thus  to  pour  my  strain  to  thee, 
And  to  ask  its  praise  may  flow 
Higher  than  thou  darest  to  go  ? 


Henry  has  become  much  interested  in  the  Ger 
man,  having  met  with  a  good  native  teacher  while 
in  college.  He  made  very  commendable  progress 
in  the  language  during  the  intervals  of  his  other 
studies.  To  please  him,  I  have  given  it  some  at 
tention,  he  being  my  instructor.  We  have  amused 
ourselves  a  little  this  evening  by  forming  phrases 
on  the  rule  that  "adverbs  beginning  a  sentence 
require  the  verb  to  precede  the  nominative ;"  for 
instance : 

"Thither  wandered  a  young  shepherdess." 

"  Hither  comes,  rejoicing  in  the  east,  the  King 
of  Day,"  etc. 

Though  I  know  comparatively  nothing  of  this 
language,  it  seems  majestic  in  its  structure,  and 
to  comprise  immense  stores  of  untranslated  riches. 
Elizabeth  Smith,  so  remarkable  as  a  linguist,  said 
that  she  had  only  a  few  select  friends  whom  she 
thought  worthy  to  be  acquainted  with  the  Ger 
man. 


v ; 

LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  167 

I  wonder  people  should  be  so  inattentive  to  the 
accomplishment  of  good  reading.  I  do  not  mean 
oratorical  declamation.  There  is  enough  of  that ; 
but  a  plain  enunciation,  so  as  not  to  cheat  any 
word  of  its  power,  and  an  entering  into  the  spirit 
of  the  book,  so  as  not  to  defraud  the  writer  of  his 
aim  and  labor,  is  what  I  mean — a  sort  of  justice 
to  the  author  and  the  language — which  those  who 
will  not  render  had  better  let  both  alone,  or  read 
to  themselves,  and  not  make  the  tired,  impatient 
listeners  parties  to  their  fraud. 


Among  the  poems  of  Walter  Scott,  I  have  been 
inclined  to  give  the  preference  to  "Marmion,"  as 
expressing  the  force  of  his  genius  more  fully  than 
the  others,  perhaps,  with  the  exception  of  parts 
of  the  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel."  The  "Lady 
of  the  Lake"  is  more  popular,  and  probably  more 
symmetrical ;  yet  nothing  in  it  is  as  thrilling  as 
the  "Convent  Scene,"  or  the  whole  description  of 
the  battle  of  Flodden  Field.  The  introductions 
to  the  several  cantos  are  fine  poetry,  but  seem  to 
me  unwisely  placed,  as  hindrances  to  the  dramat 
ic  action.  It  is  better  to  read  them  by  them 
selves,  when,  ceasing  to  be  intruders,  their  merit 
is  apparent. 


168  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

I  have  never  appreciated  "Marmion"  until  hear 
ing.  JEenry  read  it  aloud,  with  his  melodious,  man 
ly  elocution.  It  is  a  favorite  of  his,  and  that  ren 
ders  it  more  effective.  How  thrilling  he  made 
that  picture  of  Constance  before  her  judges,  in 
the  dark  vault  of  Whitby's  convent ! 

"And  there  she  stood,  so  calm,  so  pale, 
Save  that  her  breathing  did  not  fail, 
And  motion  slight  of  eye  and  head, 
And  snowy  bosom,  warranted 
That  neither  sense  nor  pulse  she  lacks, 
You  might  have  thought  a  form  of  wax 
Wrought  to  the  very  life  was  there, 
So  still  she  was,  so  pale,  so  fair." 


The  description  of  Constance,  when  about  to 
make  her  last  appeal  before  the  infliction  of  her 
cruel  doom,  is  as  graphic  as  the  pencil  could  have 
made  it. 

"And  now  that  blind  old  abbot  rose 

To  speak  the  chapter's  doom 
On  those  the  wall  was  to  inclose 

Alive,  within  its  tomb, 
But  paused,  because  that  hopeless  maid, 
Gathering  her  powers,  to  speak  essay'd : 
Thrice  she  essay'd,  and  thrice  in  vain 
Her  accents  might  no  utterance  gain. 
At  length  an  effort  sent  apart 
The  blood  that  curdled  at  her  heart, 

And  light  came  to  her  eye, 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL.  169 

And  color  dawn'd  upon  her  cheek, 

A  hectic  and  a  flutter'd  streak, 

Like  that  which  tints  the  Cheviot  peak 

In  autumn's  stormy  sky. 
And  when  the  silence  broke  at  length, 
Still  as  she  spoke,  she  gather'd  strength, 

And  armed  herself  to  bear : 
It  was  a  fearful  sight  to  see 
Such  high  resolve  and  constancy 

In  form  so  soft  and  fair." 


My  dear  grandfather  and  mother  have  listened 
with  delight  to  Henry's  readings  of  Marmion,  by 
which  he  has  rendered  a  few  rainy  evenings  pleas 
ant,  and  have  occasionally  pointed  out  subjects 
which  they  thought  an  artist  might  successfully 
illustrate.  One  is  the  last  interview  of  the  haugh 
ty  and  high-minded  Douglas,  at  the  gates  of  Tan- 
tallon  Castle,  with  the  hero  of  the  poem,  who 
would  fain  have  given  him  the  parting  hand. 

"But  Douglas  round  him  drew  his  cloak, 
Folded  his  arms,  and  thus  he  .spoke : 
'  My  manors,  halls,  and  towers  shall  still 
Be  open  at  my  sovereign's  will, 
To  each  one  whom  he  lists,  howe'er 
Unmeet  as  honor'd  guest  or  peer. 
My  castles  are  my  king's  alone, 
From  turret  to  foundation  stone  ; 
The  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own, 
And  never  shall,  in  friendly  grasp, 
The  hand  of  such  as  Marmion  clasp.'  " 

H 


170  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

What  a  rebuke  for  soiled  knightly  honor  to 
one  of  the  proudest  warriors  of  England ! 


Dreams  are  such  a  pleasant  part  of  life.  They 
seem  a  proof  of  God's  loving  kindness,  that,  while 
we  are  apparently  unconscious,  he  provides  for 
us  a  happiness  which  we  have  not  sought  after, 
and  can  scarcely  understand.  "  He  giveth  to  his 
beloved  in  their  sleep,"  as  some  translator  has 
rendered  it,  instead  of  the  common  version.  I 
often  think  of  this  passage  at  waking  with  grati 
tude  for  the  action  of  the  unslumbering  mind,  and 
the  scenes  through  which  it  has  been  led,  so  wild, 
so  wonderful,  that  memory,  with  her  plodding 
pencil,  can  scarcely  touch  their  rainbow  hues. 


How  is  sorrow  ever  treading  on  the  heels  of 
joy !  Henry's  father-uncle  has  been  smitten  by 
a  stroke  of  apoplexy.  He  is  no  more.  Oh 
Death,  how  fearful  art  thou  when  thou  comest 
unawares !  One  moment  man  moves  in  the  glory 
of  his  strength ;  the  next,  what  and  where  is  he  ? 


Pale !  pale !     How  changed !     Never  more  to 
speak  to  us !     The  bereft  house  is  as  solemn  as 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  171 

the  tomb.  Those  who  pass  to  and  fro  on  neces 
sary  avocations  glide  with  noiseless  step  and  sup 
pressed  tones,  revering  the  sheeted  dead. 

My  mother  and  myself  came  to  Henry  in  his 
trouble.  We  remain  with  him  much  of  the  time 
during  the  day,  for  we  can  help  and  comfort  him. 
My  tears  have  flowed  freely  with  his,  for  I  love 
those  whom  he  loved,  and  it  is  my  privilege  to 
share  in  his  griefs. 


Love  deepened  by  sorrow.  I  did  not  know 
how  perfectly  my  heart  was  Henry's  until  this 
affliction  came  upon  him.  He  divides  his  cares 
with  me,  and  asks  my  counsel  so  confidingly,  that 
I  feel  as  if  I  had  not  lived  in  vain.  There  are 
many  things  to  be  done  in  which  my  mother's 
advice  and  aid  are  important  to  him  and  to  the 
housekeeper. 


What  a  change  when  the  head  of  a  household 
falls  !  What  utter  desolation !  The  band  that 
held  it  together  is  broken.  The  divinity  that 
presided  in  the  temple  has  departed.  As  before 
the  fall  of  Jerusalem,  mysterious  voices  are  heard, 
saying,  "Let  us  go  hence." 


172  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL. 

The  funeral  obsequies  are  past.  He  who  so 
lately  entered  his  own  doors  in  the  glory  of  his 
strength  has  been  borne  from  them  to  return  no 
more.  I  have  never  before  fully  realized  the  so 
lemnity  of  such  a  scene,  from  not  having  been  call 
ed,  until  now,  to  take  part  as  a  mourner.  How 
unspeakably  impressive,  yet  consolatory,  is  the 
burial-service  of  the  Church  of  England !  The 
most  thoughtless  are  arrested  by  its  tender  pa 
thos.  "  Man  that  is  born  ot  a  woman  is  of  few 
days  and  full  of  trouble."  After  that  shudder  of 
the  heart  which  comes  with  "  earth  to  earth,  ashes 
to  ashes,  dust  to  dust,"  and  the  echo  of  the  clods 
from  the  cold  casket  of  the  sleeping  clay,  how 
like  a  triumph-strain  breathe  the  words,  "  I  heard 
a  voice  from  heaven  saying  unto  me,  Write :  bless 
ed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord."  The  soul 
that  has  been  broken,  and  laid  low  with  grief,  lifts 
itself  up  and  responds,  "Even  so,  saith  the  Spirit; 
for  they  rest  from  their  labors."  In  the  thought 
of  their  peaceful  rest,  so  precious  after  this  weary 
life,  with  more  intense  faith  in  Him  who  is  "  our 
resurrection  and  life,  in  whom  he  that  believeth 
shall  live  though  he  die,"  we  go  from  the  grave 
which  we  have  enriched  by  what  we  love.  If 
we  turn  away  from  it  no  wiser,  humbler,  or  more 
confiding  in  Him  who  can  alone  give  us  victory 
over  this  death  that  destroys  the  body,  methinks 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  173 

"neither  should  we  be  persuaded  though  one  arose 
from  the  dead." 


This  bereavement  of  Henry's  will  hasten  our 
nuptials.  They  had  been  appointed  for  the  next 
spring,  but  his  home  is  now  closed,  and  he  scarce 
ly  comfortable  at  a  public  boarding-house.  He 
is  so  sad  and  lone-hearted  when  away  from  us. 
He  urges  that  on  my  approaching  birth-day  we 
should  utter  with  our  lips  the  vow  that  our  hearts 
have  long  since  taken.  As  he  has  consented  to 
come  to  us,  and  there  will  be  no  separation  of  the 
family,  but  only  an  addition  to  its  happiness,  it 
will  be  far  better  to  comply  with  his  wishes  than 
to  constrain  him  longer  to  lead  the  life  of  a 
stranger. 


I  sit  alone  in  my  own  room  this  thirty-first  of 
December,  until  midnight,  to  bid  the  year  fare 
well  ;  a  year  to  me  so  eventful,  so  fraught  with 
changes  that  take  hold  on  eternity.  Its  mantle 
fades  in  the  dim  distance,  but  the  smile  of  a  cloud 
less  moon  silvers  the  landscape  while  it  gives  me 
the  parting  kiss.  As  its  last  voice,  Twelve,  slow 
ly  knells  itself  away,  my  heart  is  lifted  in  fer 
vent  praise  to  the  Almighty  Giver  who  has  led  it 


174  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

on,  through  light  and  through  darkness,  in  unerr 
ing  wisdom,  and  crowned  it  with  love.  "Bless 
the  Lord,  O  my  soul ;  and  all  that  is  within  me, 
bless  His  holy  name.  Bless  the  Lord,  O  my 
soul,  and  forget  not  all  his  benefits." 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  175 


Thursday,  January  1st,  1818. 

With  the  first  light  of  this  hallowed  morn  of 
my  birth  and  of  my  bridal,  I  look  unto  Thee,  the 
father  of  my  spirit,  the  high  rock  oi  my  salvation. 
I  cast  myself  at  Thy  footstool  before  the  blessed 
sun  comes  "rejoicing  in  the  east."  Humbly  I 
take  Thy  glorious  name  on  my  lips,  yet  in  the 
confidence  of  faith.  Thou,  who  hast  never  for 
gotten  me  since  I  was  laid  on  my  mother's  bo 
som,  remember  me  now. 

Much  have  I  to  implore  on  this,  the  most  event 
ful  day  of  my  existence.  What  shall  I  say? 
Thou  knowest  all.  Thou  hast  filled  my  cup 
with  an  overflowing  mercy  ever  since  I  was  born. 
In  the  new  brightness  that  now  surrounds  me  I 
would  not  proudly  wrap  myself,  thinking  that 
there  will  be  no  cloud.  May  I  press  the  cross 
meekly  to  my  breast  when  trouble  cometh.  May 
I  seek  the  happiness  of  others  more  than  my  own, 
not  resting  too  much  on  this  beautiful  earthly 
love,  save  as  it  enhanceth  that  which  is  divine 
and  eternal.  And  now,  Almighty  Protector  and 
Guide,  I  consecrate  unto  thee  the  being  that  thou 
hast  given.  What  I  omit  to  ask  for  my  true 
good,  deign  to  grant ;  what  I  desire  amiss,  deign 


176  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOUKNAL. 

to  deny ;  for  I  supplicate  thy  wisdom  in  all  my 
ways,  the  smile  of  thy  sustaining  Spirit  on  my 
soul,  through  the  intercession  of  a  blessed  Re 
deemer. 


Our  wedding  was  quiet  and  simple.  It  would 
not  have  been  proper,  on  account  of  recent  be 
reavement,  that  it  should  be  gay  or  festive.  In 
vitations  were  given  to  those  only  who  had  pe 
culiar  claims.  The  circle  was  therefore  select, 
but  pleasant  and  sympathetic. 

The  rooms  were  beautiful  with  flowers.  Our 
little  conservatory  gave  forth  all  its  wealth  and 
fragrance.  The  hyacinths  were  in  full  glory,  in 
bulb-glasses  and  in  pots ;  and  the  English  ivy, 
climbing  out  of  its  baskets,  almost  covered  the 
principal  windows.  Heliotrope  and  mignonnette, 
Henry's  favorites,  were  so  disposed  among  the 
rich  crimson  roses  as  to  have  a  good  effect.  Mary 
Ann's  taste  and  assistance  were  freely  lent.  She 
and  Egbert  stood  up  with  us  at  the  solemn  cere 
mony. 

"  Can  a  maid  forget  her  ornaments,  or  a  bride 
her  attire?"  asks  the  prophet.  I  was  gratified 
that  the  entire  simplicity  of  mine  was  approved 
by  those  whom  I  best  love.  A  pure  white  dress, 
a  fair  white  rose  in  the  bosom,  white  rose-buds 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  177 

and  orange-flowers  wreathed  in  the  hair — that  was 
all.  I  was  so  glad  not  to  be  absorbed  in  pre 
paring  an  elaborate  costume,  or  for  the  excitement 
of  a  large  and  strange  company,  at  an  era  so  sa 
cred.  My  grandfather's  blessing  and  my  moth 
er's  embrace,  after  the  thrilling,  hallowed  ceremo 
ny,  and  their  sweet  welcome  of  my  beloved  to 
their  heart  of  hearts,  I  can  never  forget  while 
memory  holds  her  seat. 


Henceforth,  in  all  my  prayers,  another  soul 
standeth  with  mine.  I  implore  the  Divine  favor 
for  that  soul  before  my  own.  I  would  stand  back 
that  it  may  receive  the  first  fullness  of  the  heav 
enly  blessing.  I  would  be  lost  in  its  shadow,  if  it 
might  but  drink  a  double  portion  from  the  fount 
ain  that  cleanseth  unto  eternal  life. 


Henry  has  seen  Niagara  in  the  frigid  drapery 
of  winter,  and  thinks  it  more  strikingly  majestic 
than  when  surrounded  by  the  gorgeousness  of 
summer.  He  is  very  urgent  to  take  me  there, 
and  I  should  be  delighted  to  behold  that  magnifi 
cent  work  of  Nature  in  its  most  solemn  garb, 
and  with  him.  But  dear  mother  is  not  entirely 
well,  and  I  should  not  think  it  quite  right  to  leave 
II  2 


178 

her  for  a  tour  of  pleasure.  He  acquiesces  in  my 
reason,  and  thinks  anxiety  would  mar  the  enjoy 
ment  of  both.  She  would  not  permit  this  renun 
ciation  on  her  account,  if  she  knew  it,  for  she  does 
not  call  herself  ill.  But  since  I  have  been  a  sen 
tinel  over  her  health,  I  perceive  the  slightest  ap 
proach  of  the  most  insidious  foe  sooner  than  she 
does,  because  she  never  thinks  of  herself.  With 
our  united  care,  I  trust  these  slight  symptoms  of 
evil  will  vanish.  In  the  mean  time,  we  have 
fallen  back  upon  our  original  plan,  which  was  to 
visit  Niagara  at  the  period  first  appointed  for  our 
marriage. 


Mary  Ann  and  her  mother  have  given  us  an 
evening  party,  as  pleasant  as  refined  society, 
sweet  music,  and  elegant  refreshments  could  make 
it.  Those  kind  feelings  reigned  which  impart  so 
much  enjoyment,  and  are  long  remembered.  The 
manners  of  one  of  the  guests  I  could  not  help  ob 
serving.  Every  lady  received  from  him  some  no 
tice  or  polite  attention ;  in  the  graver  conversa 
tion  of  gentlemen  he  mingled,  and  his  opinions 
were  heard  with  regard.  But  he  sought  out  the 
oldest  persons  in  the  company  for  his  especial  at 
tention,  and  brows  marked  with  age  brightened 
as  he  drew  near.  The  respect  thus  paid  to  the 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL  179 

hoary  head  seemed  both  an  offering  of  the  heart 
and  the  result  of  high  principle.  Then  he  looked 
after  those  who  chanced  to  "be  embarrassed  or 
overshadowed,  and,  being  at  ease  himself,  suc 
ceeded  in  making  them  so.  There  was  a  boy 
of  that  certain  age  which  is  constrained  in  a  cere 
monious  circle,  and  feels  that  it  is  wanted  no 
where.  To  him  he  went,  and  anon  the  bashful 
creature  was  talking  as  to  a  companion.  A  young- 
child  of  the  family  wandered  about  like  a  stray 
lamb,  and  resisted  every  advance.  But  she  was 
found  sitting  on  his  knee,  and  presently,  lo !  she 
throws  her  white  arms  around  his  neck.  His  de 
portment  was  evidently  no  attempt  at  popularity, 
but  an  amiable  desire  to  make  others  happy,  and 
a  pleasant  consciousness  of  being  able  to  do  so. 

Who  was  this  gentleman  ?  and  why  did  I  feel 
proud  of  him  ? 


"Husband"  is  a  new,  great  word.  I  have  not 
yet  learned  to  use  it.  It  seems  to  denote  a  being 
quite  above  me  ;  something  to  look  up  to  and  be 
afraid  of,  like  the  Grand  Mogul.  I  still  cling  to 
the  more  familiar  cognomens,  endeared  by  early 
association.  This  proper  and  dignified  title  will 
get  learned  by  little  and  little,  and  naturalized  in 
due  time. 


180  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

Henry  sympathizes  with  me  in  fondness  for 
noticing  anniversaries.  Sometimes,  instead  of 
simply  mentioning  the  recurrence  of  the  birth  or 
death  of  some  distinguished  personage,  he  amuses 
us  by  throwing  himself  into  the  character.  This 
morning  he  came  down  rather  stylishly  wrapped 
in  a  large  cloak. 

"  Whom  have  we  the  honor  of  receiving  ?" 

"Excuse  me,  I  pray  you,  for  thus  appearing 
before  you  without  introduction.  Deign  to  ques 
tion  me,  and  I  will  endeavor  to  give  you  satis 
faction." 

"  Of  what  country  are  you  a  native?" 

"Of  England." 

"  In  what  year  were  you  born  ?" 

"Forgive  me  for  not  being  quite  ready  to  tell 
my  age.  It  is  rather  a  delicate  matter.  Dates 
might  reveal  me  too  soon." 

"Where  did  you  learn  to  make  that  elegant 
bow?" 

"Of  my  father." 

' '  Was  your  father  a  schoolmaster  ?" 

"No;  schoolmasters  don't  make  the  best  bows." 

"Did  he  superintend  your  education?" 

"Not  so  much  as  my  mother.  To  her  I  am 
under  unspeakable  obligations." 

"  Was  she  qualified  to  instruct  you  ?" 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL.  181 

"  She  was  a  learned  woman,  and,  being  but 
feeble  in  my  childhood,  I  was  by  her  side  when 
the  deepest  impressions  are  made  on  the  mind 
and  heart." 

Perceiving  who  he  was  personating,  I  said,  in 
a  low  voice,  "Notwithstanding  her  great  learn 
ing,  she  was  willing,  it  seems,  to  be  the  Cook  of 
Bacon"  and  left  the  examination  to  others. 

My  mother  said,  "  Had  you  any  brothers,  who 
were  distinguished  like  yourself?" 

"I  had  one,  madam,  who  was  much  regarded, 
and  deservedly  so." 

"  Had  you  many  friends  ?" 

"  Some ;  but  more  in  seeming  than  in  truth." 

"Were  you  much  of  a  traveler?" 

"Yes,  in  early  years." 

"  At  what  college  were  you  educated  ?" 

"At  Cambridge." 

"  How  old  were  you  when  you  entered  ?" 

"  Twelve,  madam." 

"  What  was  your  employment  through  life  ?" 

"  I  had  various  vocations.  My  most  congen 
ial  one  was  the  writing  of  books." 

"  What  kind  of  books  ?" 

"  I  wrote  about  the  earth,  and  about  the  winds, 
and  the  life  of  one  of  the  kings  of  England." 

"And  about  philosophy,  for  you  early  'took 
all  learning  to  be  your  province.' ' 


182  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

My  grandfather,  who  seemed  to  imagine  that 
he  was  some  military  personage,  or,  perhaps,  wish 
ed  only  to  prolong  the  entertainment,  said, 

"Were  you  ever  personally  in  a  battle?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  Had  you  any  thing  to  do  with  the  American 
war?" 

"Nothing  at  all." 

"Did  you  know  George  the  Third?" 

"I  had  not  that  privilege." 

"  Had  you  any  part  in  making  the  laws  of 
England  ?" 

"I  held  an  office  under  government." 

"  Under  a  king  or  a  queen  ?" 

"  Under  both." 

"  Did  the  latter  ever  pay  a  visit  at  your  house  ?" 

"I  think  it  possible  that  she  might." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is  possible  that  you  were  once 
the  little  boy  who,  on  such  an  occasion,  being 
asked  his  age,  replied,  'He  was  just  two  years 
younger  than  her  majesty's  happy  reign  ?'  " 

"I  was." 

"  Fairly  caught,  my  grave  Lord  Keeper.  Now 
I  understand  the  pun  of  that  fair  little  wife  of 
yours,  as  your  mother  was  the  daughter  of  Sir 
Anthony  Cook ;  so  please  take  a  seat  at  the 
breakfast- table,  and  apply  yourself  by  affinity  to 
that  excellent  plate  of  bacon.  And  pray  help  us 


183 

also,  since  I  think  you  said  of  old  that  'you 
took  it  upon  you  to  ring  a  bell  to  call  other  wits 
together  rather  than  to  magnify  your  own.'  r 

Laughing,  he  divested  himself  of  his  immense 
envelope,  and,  as  the  repast  proceeded,  an  occa 
sional  interrogatory  was  addressed  to  his  assumed 
character. 

"  Since  you  are  found  out,  have  you  any  ob 
jection  to  tell  your  age  ?" 

"  I  was  born  on  the  twenty-second  of  January, 
1561,  at  York  House,  in  the  Strand,  two  hundred 
and  fifty-nine  years  since,  this  very  morning." 

"I  always  wondered  why  so  eminent  a  man 
should  suffer  his  servants  to  rule  him." 

"My  mind  was  upon  greater  things." 

"What  made  you  offer  so  much  flattery  to  such 
a  person  as  James  the  First  ?" 

"It  was  the  fashion  of  my  times." 

"Being  so  much  wiser  than  other  men,  why 
did  you  seek  so  slavishly  for  court  preferment  ?" 

"That  was  my  weakness." 

"Were  you  friendly  to  Essex?" 

"  I  advised  him  for  his  good  to  conciliate  Eliz 
abeth,  and  enforced  it  by  the  words  of  Scripture : 
4  "  Martha !  Martha !  attendis  ad  plurima,  unum 
sufficit :"  win  the  queen?  But  he  would  not 
take  my  counsel,  and  followed  his  own  wild 
temper." 


184  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

"  May  we  ask  if  you  were  true  to  him  in  his 
adversity  ?" 

"  I  gave  assurance  long  since,  in  my  works, 
that  'I  had  the  privy-coat  of  a  good  conscience.' 
Nevertheless,  I  am  glad  that  my  present  engage 
ments  do  now  call  me  away,  inasmuch  as  your 
questions  are  more  numerous  and  searching  than 
comport  with  my  perfect  convenience." 


Our  intervals  of  leisure  through  the  day  and 
stormy  evenings,  when  we  have  no  company,  are 
made  so  happy  by  the  mixture  of  reading  with 
our  conversation,  and  the  luxurious  music  of  the 
flute.  It  seems  as  if  we  could  never  be  satisfied 
with  its  dulcet  melodies.  I  know  of  no  instru 
ment  of  music,  when  skillfully  played,  that  so 
well  illustrates  Milton's  line  of 

"Linked  sweetness  long  drawn  out." 


Shakspeare's  delineation  of  Catharine  of  Ara- 
gon  has  interested  us  anew.  The  combination 
of  high  Spanish  pride  and  religious  bigotry  with 
the  truthfulness  and  tenderness  of  womanly  na 
ture  is  well  portrayed.  To  awaken  strong  inter 
est  in  such  a  personage,  without  any  allurement 
of  beauty  or  talent,  required  skill  in  the  poet. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  185 

Much  is  owing  to  her  position  in  history,  and  to 
the  injustice  of  her  lot,  which  creates  pity.  There 
is  to  our  sex  some  secret  charm  in  her  domestic 
character.  Her  gloomy  residence  at  Kimbolton, 
sequestrated  from  the  company  of  her  only  daugh 
ter  and  all  the  allurements  of  the  court,  she  cheer 
ed,  as  far  as  she  was  able,  by  the  industry  of  the 
needle  among  her  maidens.  One  of  the  old  chron 
iclers  says  that,  when  visited  by  the  wily  cardi 
nals  on  matters  of  state,  she  came  forth  to  "  meet 
them  with  a  skein  of  white  thread  hanging  about 
her  neck."  Notwithstanding  the  courtesy  and 
resignation  with  which  she  received  them,  how 
spirited  is  her  rebuke  when  she  discovers  their 
duplicity : 

"  The  more  shame  for  ye !     Holy  men  I  thought  ye." 
Touching  indeed  is  her  mournful  admission  of 
her  unprotected  state,  far  from  her  native  country, 
and  devoid  of  counselors  and  friends  in  her  ad 
versity  : 

"  Those  whom  my  trust  should  grow  to,  dwell  not  here." 

The  contrast  between  her  dignity  and  the 
thoughtless  impulsiveness  of  her  beautiful  rival 
must  have  required  some  adroitness  to  manage, 
inasmuch  as  the  latter  was  the  mother  of  Queen 
Elizabeth,  under  whose  auspices  Shakspeare  then 
wrote ;  a  woman  inured  to  flattery,  and  not  deli 
cate  in  either  manifesting  or  avenging  her  dissat 
isfactions. 


186  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

What  strange  things  children  sometimes  say ! 
Mary  Ann's  young  sister  asked  her  mother  if 
she  might  invite  two  schoolmates  to  spend  Sat 
urday  afternoon  with  her.  Permission  was  grant 
ed,  and  the  inquiry  made  if  they  had  not  a  little 
brother  who  could  accompany  them,  and  play 
with  her  own.  The  young  girl  replied, 

"  No,  ma'am,  they  have  no  brother,  except  one 
who  is  much  older,  and  I  believe  he  is  only  a 
half-brother." 

The  child,  who  was  giving  close  heed  to  their 
conversation,  exclaimed,  with  a  ludicrous  look  of 
dismay  and  wonder, 

"A  half-brother!  Have  they  got  the  part 
that  has  the  head  on  it  ?" 

Perhaps  Solomon's  decision  to  divide  the  con 
tested  child  with  the  sword  might  have  been  in 
his  mind,  and  lent  some  precision  to  his  ideas. 


We  have  had  a  delightful  sleighing-party  of 
our  more  immediate  friends.  The  pure  snow,  the 
elastic  atmosphere,  the  rapid  motion  over  perfect 
ly-beaten  roads,  the  exhilarating  sound  of  the  sil 
very  bells,  the  surpassing  glory  of  the  full,  liquid 
moon,  and  the  cheering  voices  of  loved  ones,  form 
ed  a  singular  combination  of  pleasure.  The  bri- 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL.  187 

dal  vehicle  was  expected  to  take  the  lead,  and  the 
white  steeds,  tossing  their  manes,  seemed  to  en 
joy  the  exercise  in  every  nerve  and  muscle.  Ar 
riving  at  a  township  of  several  miles'  distance,  a 
favorite  point  for  such  excursions,  we  found,  at 
the  spacious  house  of  entertainment,  a  fine  orches 
tra  awaiting  us,  and,  after  listening  with  delight 
to  their  spirited  and  varied  music,  partook  of  an 
elegant  supper.  The  only  drawback  to  my  hap 
piness  was  some  apprehension,  which  scarcely 
sprang  up,  however,  till  we  were  ready  to  return, 
that  the  unusual  lateness  of  the  hour  might  cause 
anxiety  at  home.  But,  lo  and  behold !  I  found 
them  entirely  prepared  for  the  result,  and  sitting 
up  to  receive  us  in  the  best  possible  spirits,  hav 
ing  been  apprised  of  every  arrangement  for  the 
concert,  which  was  to  be  a  bridal  surprise,  and, 
of  course,  kept  secret  from  me.  I  can  not,  by 
any  form  of  words,  express  my  gratitude  to  my 
Heavenly  Benefactor  for  His  countless  blessings. 


We  have  great  comfort  in  Sandy,  an  excellent 
Scotch  servant,  long  trained  and  trusted  by  Hen 
ry's  uncle,  who  has  lived  with  us  since  our  mar 
riage.  Both  in  the  house  and  out,  he  is  equally 
efficient,  never  tired,  and  always  respectful.  This 
mixture  of  Caledonian  blood  with  New  England 


188  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

culture  makes  a  very  reliable  and  intelligent  per 
son.  He  lias  also  knowledge  of  gardening,  and 
is  already  pondering  how  our  grounds  may  be 
improved  when  the  season  opens.  His  ruling 
idea  at  present  is  a  grapery,  which  it  has  been 
decided  to  erect,  as  a  prolongation  of  the  conserv 
atory,  and  already  he  sees  in  imagination  long 
Syrian  clusters  depending  from  the  roof,  like  the 
grapes  from  the  valley  of  Eshcol.  On  this  and 
kindred  subjects  he  sometimes  enlarges  to  Amy, 
his  sole  auditor,  who  begins  to  think  all  wisdom 
inherent  in  the  Scottish  clime.  He  studies,  dur 
ing  the  long  evenings,  whatever  he  can  find  on 
horticultural  subjects,  and  sometimes  comes  to 
ask  for  a  volume  of  the  Encyclopedia,  having, 
like  most  of  his  nation,  a  love  of  knowledge.  Oc 
casionally  he  reads  aloud  to  his  African  friend, 
who  has  great  respect  for  mental  improvement, 
and  reciprocates  his  condescension  by  little  offices 
of  kindness.  It  is  pleasant  to  see  them  so  con 
tented  in  their  lot ;  for  surely  the  kitchen,  from 
whence  so  many  important  supplies  daily  issue, 
and  which  has  so  much  to  do  with  the  well-being 
of  the  household,  should  not  have  its  own  com 
fort  and  respectability  neglected. 


It  cheers  and  makes  me  inexpressibly  grate- 


189 

ful  to  see  the  entire  reliance  of  my  dear  mother 
on  her  new  son.  This  affection  was  an  unspoken 
want  in  her  heart.  Perhaps  she  was  not  fully 
conscious  of  that  void  until  it  was  supplied. 
Whenever  it  is  in  his  power  to  assist  her,  he  leg 
islates  or  acts  for  her  with  such  tenderness  and 
discretion  that  she  needs  to  burden  her  mind 
with  no  weight  of  care.  My  grandfather,  too,  is 
equally  pleased  with  his  activity  and  perfect  re 
spect  for  advanced  years.  At  every  proposition 
that  is  brought  forward,  it  is,  "Wait,  and  ask 
Henry  ;"  on  any  matter  of  taste,  before  an  opin 
ion  can  be  given,  it  is,  "  Wait,  and  see  what  Hen 
ry  says ;"  no  enjoyment,  however  trifling,  can  be 
partaken  of  until  "  Henry  comes  home."  Some 
times  it  amuses  me  to  see  them  surrender  their 
opinions,  as  if  they  were  scarce  accountable  be 
ings.  I  knew  they  would  eventually  love  his 
goodness,  but  had  not  supposed  it  would  be  so 
absorbing  a  sentiment  and  of  such  rapid  growth. 
Earnestly  and  continually  do  I  bless  God  for  this 
bright  sunbeam  upon  the  path  of  their  advancing 
years.  It  would  be  impossible  for  me  to  enjoy 
my  own  added  happiness  unless  I  also  saw  theirs 
protected  and  promoted.  "Bless  the  Lord,  O 
my  soul,  and  forget  not  all  His  benefits.  Bless 
the  Lord,  O  my  soul ;  and  all  that  is  within  me, 
bless  His  holy  name." 


190  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 


Who  love  the  Spring  ?    The  snowdrop  pale, 
The  crocus  bursting  through  its  veil — 
These  dare  the  Frost  King's  ire  to  meet, 
And  risk  their  lives  her  step  to  greet. 
i      Whom  doth  Spring  love?     The  hyacinth  rare, 
The  tulip  gay,  with  queenly  air, 
To  them  her  choicest  gifts  she  flings, 
And  "  coats  of  many  colors"  brings ; 
Yet  none  'mid  all  that  petted  race, 
Who  garden  proud  or  green-house  grace, 
So  well  her  fond  regard  requite 
As  snowdrop  meek  and  crocus  bright — 
For  her  the  deadliest  foes  they  brave, 
And  buy  her  love-kiss  with  their  grave. 


With  the  fine  settled  weather  we  are  beginning 
to  prepare  for  our  journey  to  Niagara.  Great 
pleasure  are  we  anticipating  from  the  view  of 
that  wonderful  scenery,  and  the  new  regions 
through  which  we  shall  pass  together.  Yet  it 
will  seem  so  strange  to  leave  those  behind  who 
have  hitherto  accompanied  me  in  all  my  excur 
sions.  We  shall  write  daily  during  our  absence 
to  our  blessed  mother  and  grandfather,  that  they 
may  know  all  our  movements,  and,  as  far  as 
possible,  partake  our  joys.  The  angel  of  the  cov 
enant  spread  over  them  his  protecting  wing,  and 
bring  us  again  in  happiness  to  our  sweet  home. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S 

Niagara!    God's  voice!     God's  voice!     Let 
man  keep  silence. 


That  fathomless  flood!  That  torrent  falling 
night  and  day !  Have  they  never  rested  ?  Will 
they  never  run  out  ?  Hath  it  been  so  from  the 
beginning  ?  Will  it  be  so  unto  the  end  ?  No 
other  such  symbol  can  there  be  of  God's  eternity. 


If  any  are  disappointed  in  this  glorious  cata 
ract,  it  must  be  either  because  they  did  not  know 
what  to  expect,  or  did  not  stay  long  enough  to 
become  acquainted  with  its  sublimity.  In  all 
changes  of  light  or  darkness,  by  starlight,  by 
glimmering  moon,  or  under  the  storm-cloud,  it 
grows  upon  you  as  a  mysterious  and  awful  pres 
ence,  an  embassador  from  Him  who  "poureth 
out  the  waters  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand."  Should 
it  be  possible  for  them  to  be  disappointed  at  last, 
methinks  it  must  be  from  their  inability  to  grasp 
the  great  thoughts  that  sweep  onward  and  over 
whelm  the  soul. 


The  Rapids  are  beautiful.     From  the  window 
of  our  hotel  we  have  a  fine  view  of  them.     The 


192  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUKNAL. 

volume  of  water  becomes  suddenly  compressed, 
and  opposed  by  rugged  rocks.  In  contending 
with  them  it  prepares  for  the  terror  of  its  great 
plunge,  from  which  it  seems  at  the  last  moment 
to  recoil,  as  if  it  would  fain  escape,  like  an  intel 
ligent  being  shrinking  on  the  verge  of  some  great 
calamity. 


There  is  wonderful  fascination  in  the  recesses 
of  Goat  Island.  Thither  we  often  turn,  and  lin 
ger  long.  When  our  senses  are  overpowered  by 
the  majesty  of  the  great  fall,  and  our  earthly  na 
tures  seem  unable  longer  to  endure  such  sublim 
ity,  we  hide  in  the  shadow  of  its  umbrageous 
trees,  like  the  prophet  in  the  cleft  of  the  rock, 
when  that  ineffable  glory  passed  by  which  "no 
man  may  see  and  live."  There  we  sit,  in  silence 
too  exquisite  for  speech.  Sometimes  we  gather 
the  wild  flowers  that  cluster  around  our  feet,  still 
unconsciously,  for  we  "wist  not  what  we  do." 
It  was  in  one  of  our  flights  to  this  enchanted 
isle  that  we  first  beheld  the  lunar  bow.  We  had 
often  seen  Niagara  thus  celestially  "  clothed  by 
the  sun,"  but  now,  like  the  mystic  vision  of  the 
seer  at  Patmos,  it  "  had  the  moon  under  its  feet." 
Neither  pen  nor  pencil  could  touch  the  tremulous 
beauty  of  that  crescent,  "  born  of  the  evening 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  193 

dew-drop,  and  the  smile  of  starry  queen."  So 
pure,  so  illusive,  it  seemed  like  the  folded  shad 
ow  of  some  heavenly  thought. 

It  would  be  desirable  that  every  visitant  of 
Niagara  should,  if  possible,  choose  that  time  when 
the  moon  has  power  to  present  him  this  gift,  her 
own  delicate,  unequaled  tinting  of  Nature's  grand 
est  picture. 


We  have  been  so  annoyed  in  what  we  intend 
ed  should  be  solitary  visits  to  different  points  of 
the  surrounding  scenery  by  the  company  of  a 
statistical  genius,  whom  we  tried  vainly  to  avoid. 
Enthusiastic  is  he  too,  in  his  way,  but  it  turns  to 
matters  of  admeasurement.  He  has  spent  quite 
a  long  time  here,  and  is  lavishly  benevolent  of 
his  knowledge.  When  you  fancy  yourself  con 
cealed  in  some  quiet  nook,  he  suddenly  appears 
at  your  side,  and  raises  the  screech  of  his  expla 
nations  above  the  thunder  of  the  torrent. 

"  Have  you  visited  the  Cave  of  the  Winds  ?" 

"Not  yet." 

"I  shall  be  happy  to  show  you  the  way.  I 
have  been  seventeen  times  to  the  Termination 
Rock.  When  do  you  go  over  on  the  British 
side?" 

"We  do  not  know." 
I 


194  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL. 

"You  are  aware,  I  suppose,  that  the  fall  is 
longer  on  their  side,  but  not  so  high  as  on  ours 
by  six  feet.  Their  part  of  Niagara  is  2100  feet, 
and  ours  not  more  than  half  as  long,  but  it's  164 
feet  in  height." 

We  relapsed  into  silence,  hoping  to  be  left  un^ 
disturbed ;  but  he  continued : 

"Do  you  know  how  wide  Niagara  Hiver  is 
when  it  first  bursts  out  of  Lake  Erie  ?" 

"No." 

"Well,  it  is  full  two  miles,  and  at  Grand  Isl 
and  it  spreads  out  to  three ;  but  the  rocks  shut 
it  in  so  that  it's  scarce  a  mile  broad  here  and  at 
the  Rapids  above.  The  four  great  lakes  that  it's 
the  outlet  of  cover  a  surface  of  150,000  miles." 

"Could  not  you  have  something  of  a  water 
privilege  here  ?"  said  Henry,  hazarding  a  joke ; 
but  he  took  all  in  good  part. 

"  Grand  mills,  indeed,  there  might  be,  sir — no 
end  to  the  water-power.  But  the  trouble  would 
be  where  to  build  them,  and  how  to  make  them 
stand." 

The  man  is  neither  foolish  nor  ignorant.  On 
the  contrary,  he  has  gathered  a  large  stock  of  in 
formation  during  his  sojourn  here,  and  is,  I  believe, 
writing  a  book.  But  the  mistake  is,  he  thinks  it 
his  vocation  to  do  the  honors  of  Niagara. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  195 

The  voyage  to  the  Canadian  shore  was  to  me 
unique  and  impressive.  I  had  never  before  been 
on  such  deep  waters.  As  we  reached  the  middle 
of  the  current  we  were  sensible  of  its  giant  force, 
bearing  up  the  boat  like  an  egg-shell  upon  its 
terrible  tide.  Instinctively  I  glanced  at  the  mus 
cular  arms  of  the  rowers,  wondering  if  they  were 
equal  to  a  task  which  seemed  full  of  temerity. 
The  view  of  the  falls  is  here  magnificent.  A 
stupendous  column  with  a  fathomless  base,  and 
its  head  among  the  clouds.  It  utters  not,  like 
Memnon's  statue,  musical  articulations,  but  with 
a  great  thunder-voice  warns  you  not  to  approach. 
Unable  to  turn  away  your  eyes  from  the  beauty 
and  the  terror,  you  gaze  at  it,  amid  fragments  of 
rainbows,  until  you  are  blinded  by  the  baptism 
of  its  spray.  Forgetting  all  the  apprehension 
that  at  first  oppressed  you,  you  are  lost  in  hu 
mility,  and  feel  what  you  really  are,  an  atom  in 
the  great  creation  of  God. 


Niagara  is  but  imperfectly  appreciated  until 
viewed  from  the  Table  Rock.  As  you  stand  upon 
that  unparapeted  verge,  its  unveiled  glory  bursts 
upon  the  astonished  senses.  Its  scope,  its  majes 
ty,  the  ineffable  beauty  of  its  coloring,  the  white, 
the  green,  and  the  violet,  are  more  fully  revealed. 


196  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Flocks  of  little  birds  dare  to  disport  around,  dip 
ping  their  slender  wings  in  its  clouds  of  spray 
unharmed. 

Descending  to  its  base,  and  looking  up,  we  were 
awed  by  another  aspect  of  sublimity.  Though 
less  overpowering,  it  seemed,  in  some  respects, 
more  congenial  to  us,  born  of  dust,  to  dwell 
among  the  lowly  thoughts  that  there  sprang  up 
like  blossoms  in  the  shade. 

This  is  Thy  temple,  Architect  Divine, 

By  whom  the  pillars  of  the  universe 

Were  rear'd  from  chaos.     To  the  thundering  flood, 

Smiting  austerely  on  its  ear  of  rock, 

It  answereth  naught. 

Man  brings  his  fabrics  forth 
With  toil  and  pain.     The  pyramid  ascends, 
Yet,  ere  it  reach  the  apex-point,  he  dies, 
Nor  leaves  a  chisel'd  name  upon  his  tomb. 
The  vast  cathedral  grows,  while  race  on  race 
Fall  like  the  ivy  sere  that  drapes  its  walls. 
The  imperial  palace  and  the  triumph-arch 
Uplift  their  crown  of  fretwork  haughtily ; 
Yet  the  wild  Goth  doth  waste  them,  and  his  herds 
The  Vandal  pasture  'mid  their  fallen  pride. 
But  thou,  from  age  to  age,  dost  heavenward  raise 
Thy  rocky  altar  to  Jehovah's  name, 
Silent,  and  steadfast,  and  immutable. 


Here  we  are,  in  the  dominions  of  his  majesty, 
the  British  king.  No  perceptible  change  in  our 
selves  by  being  under  a  monarchical  government. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  197 

There  is  doubtless  in  us  Americans  an  innate  love 
to  the  good  old  mother-land.  It  was  inculcated 
on  our  ancestors  as  a  part  of  their  religion,  and, 
though  the  war-cloud  dashed  it  with  bitterness 
and  stained  it  with  blood,  it  is  not  dead.  I  trust 
she  will  be  proud  of  her  high-spirited  offspring 
by-and-by.  These  Canadian  subjects  of  George 
of  Brunswick  are  less  intelligent,  and  wiry,  and 
wide  awake  than  the  Yankees.  They  seem  an 
industrious,  well-disposed  people,  not  made  unea 
sy  by  a  surplus  of  ambition. 


We  are  well  accommodated  here,  and  from  the 
windows  and  piazza  of  our  hotel  have  command 
ing  and  enchanting  views  of  the  great  cataract. 
Among  the  places  in  this  vicinity  to  be  visited, 
we  went  to  Drummondsville,  and  stood  on  the 
spot  where  the  sanguinary  battle  of  Lundy's  Lane 
was  fought  three  summers  since.  This  we  did 
that  we  might  better  describe  its  locality  to  our 
grandfather,  who,  though  he  deprecates  the  last 
war,  has  a  soldier's  reverence  for  bravery.  A 
guide  pointed  out  to  us  where  the  conflict  had 
most  furiously  raged,  and  the  earth  drank  deep 
est  of  their  blood  whose  veins  were  filled  at  the 
same  fountain.  Near  by  was  the  burial-ground, 
where,  their  brief  hatred  over,  they  quietly  sleep, 
"  whom  fate  made  brothers  in  the  tomb." 


198 


Back  on  the  American  side,  which  is,  after  all, 
more  beautiful,  though  less  sublime  than  its  com 
petitor.  One  more  walk  together  on  the  Terra 
pin  Bridge,  an  unpoetical  name  given  to  a  strong 
abutment,  ending  in  a  single  beam  of  timber,  and 
projected  over  the  flood  as  far  as  it  can  be  with 
safety.  To  stand  on  this  point  and  look  into  the 
foaming  abyss  beneath  your  feet,  amid  the  whirl, 
and  the  eddy,  and  the  tumult,  rocked  by  the 
winds,  and  bathed  in  the  spray,  gives  a  sense  of 
isolation  from  all  God's  created  works.  At  first 
it  needs  some  firmness  of  nerve,  and  you  grasp 
the  balustrade  at  every  step,  but  eventually  there 
is  a  strong,  strange  pleasure  in  standing  there, 
as  though  the  soul  were  alone  with  its  Maker, 
and  swallowed  up  in  Him. 

A  romantic  young  man  persuaded  his  lady-love 
to  let  him  lead  her  blindfold  at  her  first  visit  to 
this  terrific  spot.  At  the  extreme  point  he  re 
moved  the  veil,  and  she  fainted.  It  must  have 
required  no  small  degree  of  skill  and  tact  to  con 
vey  a  helpless  form  from  so  singular  a  location. 


Farewell  to  Niagara !  I  could  not  have  sup 
posed  that  the  parting  would  have  caused  pain. 
Henry,  who  has  been  here  before,  says  this  re- 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  199 

luctance  to  leave  increases  at  every  visit,  and  that 
the  attachment  is  proportioned  to  the  length  of 
your  stay.  It  does  not  seem  like  common,  ele 
mental  matter,  a  great  flood  put  in  motion,  but  a 
mighty*soul  with  which  you  intimately  commune. 
Its  sublimity  is  not  like  that  of  the  grand,  sol 
emn  mountains,  on  whose  heads  the  clouds  set 
tle.  It  has  a  voice,  forever  speaking  one  great 
Name.  Their  ascent  is  with  toil  and  peril,  breath 
ing  through  blood,  from  the  rarefied  atmosphere. 
Here,  you  seat  yourself,  as  friend  with  friend,  in 
the  shadow  of  green  trees,  under  the  loving  skies. 
Neither  is  its  sublimity  like  that  of  the  ocean, 
now  tossed  and  towering  in  the  madness  of 
storms,  and  then  subsiding  into  a  dead  calm  that 
sickens  the  mariner.  More  than  any  other  thing 
of  earth  it  may  be  called  always  the  same.  But 
is  it  a  thing  of  earth  ?  Nay,  rather  of  the  skies, 
and  in  affinity  with  the  "  Sky-builder." 
'Tis  never  angry,  and  it  changeth  not. 


We  have  solaced  our  sorrow  at  parting  with 
Niagara  by  a  visit  to  Boston,  the  fair  capital  of 
the  grand  old  "Bay  State,"  to  which  the  other 
New  England  commonwealths  look  with  filial 
pride.  This  is  Henry's  favorite  city,  and  he  con 
fidently  trusts  that  it  will  be  mine  also.  It  con- 


200  LUCY   HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

tains  about  forty  thousand  inhabitants,  and  has 
many  elegant  public  and  private  mansions.  The 
State-house,  on  its  lofty  eminence,  is  imposing, 
and  the  Common,  with  its  graceful  elms,  a  truly 
pleasant  spot.  The  environs,  with  here  aftd  there 
a  baronial  country  residence,  are  exceedingly  beau 
tiful,  and  under  high  cultivation.  I  am  glad  there 
are  no  falls  to  visit.  I  would  not  see  them  if 
there  were.  I  am  jealously  pledged  to  admire 
only  Niagara. 


On  the  sacred  ground  of  Bunker  Hill  have  we 
stood,  at  that  very  anniversary  (June  1 7th)  which 
has  given  it  in  history  a  place  with  Marathon  and 
Salamis.  Before  us  spread,  as  in  a  great,  living 
picture,  the  recorded  events  of  that  day :  the  an 
ger  of  the  regal  troops  at  discovering  the  breast 
work  thrown  up  during  the  night  by  the  toil  of 
our  fathers ;  the  "  arming  in  hot  haste"  under 
morning's  peaceful  smile  ;  the  in'dignant  pride  of 
the  more  powerful  host ;  the  resolved  firmness  of 
the  other,  on  whose  brows  was  written  Freedom 
or  death;  the  rush  to  "battle's  magnificently  stern 
array;"  the  trumpet  cry ;  the  commanding  form  of 
Prescott ;  the  thunder- voice  of  Putnam ;  the  fall  of 
Warren ;  the  flames  of  Charlestown ;  the  volleys 
from  the  deck  of  the  Asia,  making  the  quiet  waters 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL.  201 

a  partner  in  earth's  conflict;  the  countless  cir 
cumstances  which,  by  eye-witnesses  and  actors, 
had  been  related  to  us,  gathered  new  force  while 
standing  on  the  soil  which  had  so  deeply  drank 
the  blood  of  its  sons.  Methought  the  spirit  of 
'76  came  over  us,  and  we  were  filled  with  more 
enthusiastic  gratitude  to  those  who,  for  us  their 
posterity,  thus  "periled  their  lives  on  the  high 
places  of  the  field." 


Boston  is  far  less  bustling  than  New  York, 
less  calmly  serene  than  Philadelphia,  more  staid 
and  ceremonious  than  Baltimore.  Its  English 
habitudes  are  deep,  and  yet  it  has  a  marked  idio 
syncrasy.  Its  dignity  has  been  sometimes  thought 
to  amount  to  stiffness,  especially  by  our  Southern 
friends,  who  have  such  a  pleasant  facility  in  get 
ting  acquainted.  There  is  great  respect  for  an 
cestry  testified  here,  in  which  both  Henry  and 
myself  sympathize.  He  says  the  aristocracy  of 
honorable  descent  is  far  preferable  to  that  of 
wealth,  and  brings  with  it  a  loftier  class  of  senti 
ments.  The  society  which  we  have  met,  princi 
pally  on  account  of  his  late  uncle,  who  had  many 
acquaintances  here,  have  given  some  fine  speci 
mens  of  the  "  old-school  manners."  Among  these, 
the  Hon.  Harrison  Gray  Otis  has  appeared  to  me 
12 


202  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOUENAL. 

the  most  perfectly  polished  and  courtly.  He 
knows  how  to  say  elegant  things  in  an  elegant 
manner,  and  just  at  the  right  time.  Though  past 
fifty  years  old,  a  senator  of  the  United  States, 
and  distinguished  as  a  lawyer  and  politician,  he 
has  all  the  freshness  and  amenity  of  early  man 
hood.  I  should  think  he  might  possess  that  kind 
of  popular  fascination  that  distinguished  Themis- 
tocles,  seeming  to  know  every  one,  and  to  say 
gracefully  what  every  one  would  best  like  to  hear, 
yet  without  compromising  his  own  elevated  posi 
tion.  Why  should  any  one  assert  that  gentle 
manly  manners  are  of  little  consequence?  I  doubt 
whether  I  could  entirely,  or  long,  love  any  one 
who  was  radically  deficient  in  them,  provided  op 
portunity  had  been  given  to  acquire  them.  True 
politeness,  springing  from  a  knowledge  of  what  is 
due  to  others,  a  desire  to  render  them  happy,  and 
a  disposition  to  please  itself  last,  is  not  only  a 
most  attractive  accomplishment,  but  in  sympathy 
with  the  spirit  and  duties  of  religion. 


Exceedingly  beautiful  is  the  scenery  in  the 
richness  of  this  leafy  month.  Sparkling  streams 
wind  like  ribbons  through  the  vales,  and  silver 
lakelets  are  adorned  with  the  iris  and  water-lily. 
The  pastures  are  profuse  with  the  white  blossom 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL.  203 

of  the  blackberry,  seen  through  vistas  and  forest 
ranges  of  the  sweet  wild  rose. 

While  I  stop  to  gather  these  till  the  carriage 
is  paved  with  bloom,  Henry  interests  himself  in 
the  various  geological  formations.  Sometimes  he 
discovers  slatestone,  and  a  kind  of  gneiss  unusu 
ally  brilliant  with  mica ;  then  comes  upon  lime 
stone  ranges,  where  fine  marbles  are  imbedded. 
But  I  am  allured  from  his  scientific  eloquence 
when  the  wild,  bold  hills,  or  excavations  among 
the  mountain  spurs  break  on  us  radiant  with  the 
most  splendid  specimens  of  the  laurel.  Its  deli 
cate  tints  of  pink,  now  fading  into  white,  and 
anon  deepening  to  a  decided  red,  contrasted  with 
its  dark,  lustrous  leaf,  continually  reminded  us  of 
Him  whose  pencil  could  alone  paint  it.  We  were 
happy  that  our  leisurely  mode  of  traveling  per 
mitted  us  to  take  note  of  Nature's  charms,  and  to 
heed  even  the  simple  lessons  of  a  flower.  When 
the  object  is  only  to  surmount  space  with  as  much 
rapidity  as  possible,  the  rural  sentiment  receives 
no  culture,  and  some  of  the  purest  pleasures  of 
which  we  are  susceptible  must  be  sacrificed. 


How_that  little  word  home  underlies  all  our 
satisfactions !  The  heart  comes  lack  to  it  as  a 
key-tone  from  all  the  wanderings  of  its  song.  For 


204 

myself,  I  shall  be  content  to  roam  no  more.  In 
Niagara  have  I  not  seen  the  utmost  that  Nature 
can  display?  My  eyes  have  "looked  upon  the 
king  in  his  beauty,  and,  until  they  behold  the 
land  that  is  very  far  off,"  methinks  they  are  sa 
tiated. 


When  the  sound  of  our  returning  wheels  was 
heard,  in  the  prolonged  flush  of  a  summer  twi 
light,  my  blessed  mother  and  her  father,  the  beau 
tiful  old  man,  hastened  forth  to  welcome  us.  A 
joyful  meeting  was  it.  Faithful  Amy,  too,  par 
ticipated  in  our  pleasure  ;  so  long  a  bearer  of  our 
toils,  she  has  a  right  to  be  a  sharer  in  our  joys. 
Her  attachment  to  us  seems  like  that  of  feudal 
times,  and  her  sable  skin  and  lot  of  servitude  are 
no  reasons  why  it  should  not  be  reciprocated. 
She  was  glad  also  to  see  Sandy,  our  kind  and 
careful  driver,  and  anticipates  great  entertainment 
from  his  details  of  the  wonders  of  his  way. 

Into  our  evening  devotions  and  chanted  hymn, 
voices  and  flute  concurring,  the  incense  of  grate 
ful  hearts  was  pressed  to  overflowing.  As  a  fam 
ily  reunited  by  God's  mercy,  we  knelt  before  Him 
in  love  and  praise.  Graciously  may  His  Spirit 
guide  us  until  this  heaven  below  shall  lead  us  to 
a  heaven  above. 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL.  205 

Methinks  I  am  too  happy  and  too  idle.  A 
most  ungrateful  return  for  distinguished  bless 
ings  to  become  inert  and  self-indulgent.  What 
can  I  do  for  the  good  of  others  that  shall  involve 
some  effort  or  self-denial  ?  Hitherto  all  my  serv 
ices  of  that  sort  have  been  pleasant  and  overpaid, 
gifts  cast  into  the  treasury  that  cost  me  nothing. 
I  would  fain  bring  those  two  mites  which  were 
approved  by  Him  who  "  pleased  not  himself," 
and  whose  followers  we  profess  to  be. 


It  seems  as  if  I  might  be  useful  by  instructing 
poor  little  girls,  were  it  only  in  the  use  of  the  nee 
dle.  Many  home-virtues  are  connected  with  that 
simple  implement,  and  much  wretchedness  has  it 
power  to  prevent ;  but,  unless  acquaintance  with 
it  is  formed  in  early  life,  it  is  seldom  resorted  to 
with  pleasure  or  profit.  After  a  family  consul 
tation,  there  has  been  full  consent  that  I  should 
undertake  such  a  plan,  and  once  a  week  have  as 
many  of  these  neglected  children  as  our  back  par 
lor  will  conveniently  contain.  Henry  is  especi 
ally  zealous  about  it,  because  he  knows  it  will 
please  me.  He  is  arranging  to  have  benches 
made,  of  a  proper  form  and  height,  which  can  at 
other  times  be  slipped  into  the  conservatory  and 


206  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

grapery,  and  serviceable  there.     God  bless  his 
kind,  ardent  heart. 


Mother  and  I  have  been  out  canvassing  for 
scholars.  I  reap  the  benefit  of  her  large  ac 
quaintance  with  the  poor,  and  of  their  gratitude 
to  her.  Into  the  "highways  and  hedges"  have 
we  gone,  yet  not  compelling  them  to  come  in,  for 
they  scarcely  needed  persuasion.  The  argument 
that  had  most  weight  in  overcoming  any  shadow 
of  hesitancy  was,  that,  after  they  had  learned  the 
use  of  the  needle,  they  were  to  have  for  their  own 
any  garment  that  should  be  given  them  to  make 
in  school.  I  trust  that  ere  long  some  of  the  tat 
tered  habiliments  we  have  seen  in  our  visits  will 
be  mended,  or  replaced  by  better  ones,  through 
the  little  people  committed  to  my  charge. 


They  have  been,  the  poor  young  creatures,  for 
several  Saturday  afternoons.  At  first  they  were 
so  uncouth  and  so  frightened.  Two  of  the  small 
est  set  up  a  great  cry,  not  knowing  what  evil  was 
to  befall  them.  I  was  so  glad  that  they  could 
look  into  the  conservatory.  The  flowers  seemed 
to  quiet  and  assure  them.  They  gazed  on  them 
with  dilated  eyes.  Was  it  the  perception  of  beau- 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL.  207 

ty  that  soothed  their  poor  hearts,  or  felt  they  His 
protecting  presence  who  careth  for  the  lilies? 
Now  the  feelings  of  the  timid  ones  have  subsided. 
A  few  are  bold  and  coarse,  and  require  to  be  re 
pressed.  But  all  are  the  beings  of  Thy  power  and 
love,  Father  in  heaven,  and  should  be  dear  to  us, 
for  the  Savior's  sake. 


My  children  have  greatly  improved.  Some  of 
them  did  not  know  at  first  on  which  finger  to 
wear  the  thimble,  or,  indeed,  what  a  thimble  was. 
Now  they  begin  to  sew  carefully.  The  plainest 
needle-work  and  reading  are  all  that  I  at  present 
attempt.  These  simple  branches  are  interspersed 
with  oral  instructions,  in  the  form  of  short  stories, 
precepts,  texts  of  Scripture,  or  verses  of  hymns. 
I  cultivate  in  them  the  habit  of  attention  when 
spoken  to,  and  of  respectful  manners.  Instead 
of  rushing  into  the  room  en  masse,  and  making 
for  the  benches  as  if  pursued  by  a  wolf,  the  strong 
pushing  the  weak,  and  the  bashful  slinking  behind 
the  brave,  they  have  learned  to  enter  and  leave  the 
room  with  a  decent  courtesy,  each  taking  her  own 
particular  seat  in  an  orderly  way.  I  am  resolved 
they  shall  have  civil  manners,  if  they  fail  in  ev 
ery  other  accomplishment ;  also,  if  they  read  only 
ten  words,  they  shall  pronounce  them  distinctly, 


208  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

if  tliey  go  over  them  ten  times  for  that  purpose ; 
and  not,  like  the  pupils  of  some  of  our  fashiona 
ble  seminaries,  who,  perhaps,  may  excel  in  music, 
yet  neither  in  reading  or  speaking  enunciate  so  as 
to  be  understood,  leaving  it  doubtful  whether  their 
words  be  "piped  or  harped."  I  seem  to  love 
these  little  ones,  more  for  their  ignorance  and 
their  faults,  because,  in  a  great  measure,  they  are 
not  to  blame  for  either,  being  the  result  of  their 
condition  in  life,  and  because  they  are  so  ready 
to  forsake  them,  and  learn  better  things. 


The  changes  that  have  been  made  in  our 
grounds  by  Sandy's  Scottish  zeal  and  persever 
ance,  under  the  direction  of  Henry,  and  the  daily 
supervision  of  my  grandfather,  are  surprising. 
Especially  have  the  productions  of  the  garden 
expanded  and  multiplied.  Beds  of  rich  escu 
lents,  which  to  my  eye  are  comely,  furnish  our 
table  with  abundant  supplies,  and  are  acceptable 
presents  to  neighbors  and  friends.  Raspberries 
cover  with  their  fruitage  the  espaliers  that  sup 
port  them ;  currants,  trimmed  in  the  form  of  small 
trees,  display  long,  pendent  strings  of  red  and 
white,  while  at  their  feet,  and  circling  out  beyond 
them,  the  strawberry  in  its  season  ran  luxuriant 
ly,  breathing  fragrance.  Grape-vines,  loaded  with 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  209 

clusters,  from  wall  and  trellis,  promise  an  abun 
dant  harvest.  Upon  these  fruits  of  our  heavenly 
Father's  bounty,  bearing  so  directly  on  health 
and  comfort,  I  look  with  more  delight  at  this 
season  than  even  at  the  flowers,  which  are  the 
especial  solace  of  winter.  Mine,  from  the  little 
green-house,  are  disporting  themselves  in  the  free 
soil  and  open  air  like  city  children  let  loose  upon 
a  farm.  Henry  so  enjoys  his  walk  and  work  here 
when  the  confinement  of  banking  hours  is  over. 
There  we  wander  together  "at  the  cool  of  the 
day,"  and  devise  improvements.  Then,  also,  he 
often  inquires  about  my  pet  school,  and  its  dif 
ferent  members,  and  co-operates  with  a  strength 
ening  sympathy. 


All  our  family  congratulate  me  on  the  improve 
ment  of  my  school,  both  in  diligence,  good  man 
ners,  and  neatness  of  appearance.  The  latter  has 
been  quite  an  object  with  me,  keeping  in  view 
the  ancient  adage  that  "cleanliness  is  next  to 
godliness."  Faithful  Amy  presides  over  a  tank 
and  a  robing-room,  through  whose  transmigra 
tions  they  pass  ere  they  enter  their  school,  which 
I  am  glad  has  been  kept  in  a  parlor,  for  it  author 
izes  me  to  claim  more  of  that  preparation  which 
is  so  useful  to  them.  Faces  and  hands  receive  a 


210  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

thorough  ablution,  if  necessary,  and  the  hair  gets 
a  careful  brushing  from  this  mistress  of  ceremo 
nies  ;  then  long-sleeved  aprons  are  put  on,  cover 
ing  their  whole  dress,  which  she  keeps  nicely  fold 
ed  for  them  until  they  come  again.  I  was  amused 
to  see  her  drawing  back  two  who  had  rather  light 
ly  escaped  her  criticism,  exclaiming,  "Here!  here! 
clean  hands  and  a  pure  heart  before  you  go  in  to 
the  mistress."  She  is  fond  of  quoting  Scripture, 
or  any  wise  saying  she  may  have  heard,  having 
a  remarkable  memory.  She  considers  these  serv 
ices  of  purification  a  part  of  the  educating  pro 
cess,  and  herself  honored  by  being  permitted  to 
preside  as  priestess  at  the  laver.  Her  kind  heart 
is  therefore  comforted  by  counting  her  office,  which 
is  surely  no  sinecure,  as  comprehended  within  the 
sphere  of  benevolence  to  the  poor. 


It  is  not  merely  during  the  time  allotted  to  my  ' 
school  that  the  children  occupy  me.  Their  work 
must  be  prepared  during  the  interval,  and  the  sew 
ing  materials  supplied,  that  I  may  be  able,  when 
with  them,  to  attend  to  their  lessons,  and  mingle 
as  wisely  as  possible  those  instructions  which  I 
hope  may  prepare  them  for  a  better  life.  I  was 
not  before  aware  of  the  strong  interest  of5  the  teach 
er  in  those  under  her  care,  though  I  knew  the  af 
fection  the  young  heart  bears  its  teacher. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  211 

We  have  a  list  of  the  families  of  the  scholars, 
and  call  on  them  in  rotation.  This  kind  of  par 
ish  visiting  is  very  useful,  for,  thus  becoming  ac 
quainted  with  the  interior  of  the  laboring  house 
holds,  we  better  learn  how  to  aid  or  encourage 
them  ;  and  this  wider  sympathy  with  humanity  is 
a  material  of  true  happiness. 


One  pleasure  of  a  journal  comes  from  writing 
our  thoughts  without  the  trouble  of  correcting  or 
elaborating  them.  Giving  them  their  course,  just 
as  they  rise,  on  the  "cream-bowl"  of  the  mind, 
they  have  more  freshness  than  when  churned  into 
butter,  to  use,  like  Socrates,  a  homely  compari 
son,  though  this  is  borrowed  from  Milton,  who  de 
scribes  in  L' Allegro  the  goblin  toiling  to  "  earn 
his  cream-bowl,  duly  set."  A  journal  has  almost 
a  magician's  power  in  recalling  past  scenes  and 
clothing  them  with  their  first  life.  When  you 
review  it,  a  single  line,  like  a  seed-thought, 
draws  around  it  countless  associations.  Its  wand 
touches  departed  friends,  and  they  come  back ; 
books  long  since  read,  and  they  pour  out  their 
wealth  anew ;  forgotten  events,  and  they  burst 
brightly  upon  memory  ;  buried  feelings,  and  they 
are  quickened  in  their  graves  to  a  resurrection. 
So,  by  the  aid  of  this  silent  annal,  the  unwritten 


212  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

pages  of  life  are  made  plainer  and  more  vivid  than 
those  which  the  pen  has  traced. 


The  breath  of  the  Frost  King,  hastening  be 
fore  his  time,  has  not  yet  prevailed  to  whiten  the 
dew-drops,  but  he  has  torn  the  leaves  from  their 
boughs,  and  turned  them  brown,  tossing  them 
about  spitefully.  Ah !  what  have  they  done,  thus 
to  be  abandoned  to  a  tyrant's  power  ?  Greenly 
had  they  waved,  making  the  landscape  beautiful, 
and  hurting  none.  They  had,  perhaps,  looked 
into  the  nests  of  the  birds,  and  spread  a  cool  cur 
tain  over  them  while  they  slept,  and  thrilled  with 
joy  at  their  morning  song.  Innocent  were  their 
lives  and  lovely ;  but  the  birds  have  flown  away 
to  a  warmer  clime,  and  forgotten  their  tender  care. 
In  poverty  and  desolation  the  smitten  leaves  die, 
with  none  to  mourn  for  them. 


The  happiest  anniversary  of  our  blessed  Ke- 
deemer's  birth  that  I  have  ever  known.  Impress 
ive  and  delightful  were  its  sacred  ceremonies  in 
the  sanctuary.  Sermon,  music,  and  all  the  serv 
ices  seemed  in  unison  with  the  angel's  song  on  the 
plains  of  Bethlehem,  "  Peace  on  earth,  and  good 
will  to  men."  Almost  like  inspiration  breathed 
that  sweet  old  hymn : 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  213 

"  While  shepherds  watch'd  their  flocks  by  night, 
All  seated  on  the  ground." 

The  exchange  of  gifts  at  the  early  morn  soft 
ened  and  cheered  our  hearts,  while  the  love  of 
God  and  of  each  other,  with  the  high  praises  of 
Him  whose  coming  was  our  salvation,  made  earth 
like  heaven. 


The  children  of  my  home-school  were  not  for 
gotten  in  our  joy.  The  Saturday  after  Christ 
mas  was  a  festival  for  them.  Each  was  permit 
ted  to  invite  two  guests,  and  generally  brought 
their  parents  or  sisters,  while  a  few  of  our  own 
intimate  friends  came  to  witness  the  scene.  The 
pupils  entered  two  and  two,  entirely  neat  in  their 
persons,  clothed  in  white  aprons  with  long  sleeves, 
made  by  their  own  needles  for  this  occasion  from 
materials  given  by  my  mother.  They  saluted  the 
company  with  a  respectful  courtesy,  answered  a 
few  simple  questions  about  what  they  had  learn 
ed,  and  read  very  slowly  and  distinctly  a  verse 
or  two  from  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount.  Our 
good  minister  made  them  a  kind  little  address, 
which  they  seemed  to  comprehend.  Then  they 
received  their  gifts  with  thanks  and  joyous  faces. 
Henry,  having  had  a  nice  basket  made  for  each 
by  an  Indian  woman  whom  he  patronizes,  pre- 


214  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL. 

sented  them,  filled  with  cakes  and  fruits,  which 
they  were  to  carry  home  and  share  with  their 
families,  instead  of  selfishly  consuming.  My 
grandfather's  gift  was  a  pair  of  thick  shoes,  my 
own  a  warm  shawl,  and  my  mother's  a  nice  quilt 
ed  hood,  on  which  we  had  both  been  for  some 
time  busily  engaged ;  so  that  the  whole  class 
will  now  be  in  a  plain,  comfortable  uniform.  We 
had  selected  such  articles  as  we  knew  most  adapt 
ed  to  their  needs,  and  I  detected  my  grandfather 
pressing  into  the  hands  of  such  as  had  aged  rel 
atives  at  home  parcels  which  he  had  privately 
prepared  for  them.  Blessed  eld  man !  At  part 
ing,  they  stood  in  a  circle,  taking  hold  of  hands, 
and  sang  to  a  simple  tune  the  following  still  more 
simple  strain : 

We  will  sing,  companions  all, 
On  this  Christmas  festival — 
Sing  with  hearts  of  joyous  cheer 
To  our  friend,  our  Savior  dear. 
Not  to  palaces  of  fame 
On  his  day  of  birth  He  came  ; 
No,  He  chose  the  humblest  cell, 
Bow'd  with  lowliest  ones  to  dwell. 
All  our  gifts  from  Him  proceed, 
Every  blessed  word  and  deed, 
That  to  Christian  friends  we  owe, 
From  His  glorious  Gospel  flow. 
We  would  thank  Him  o'er  and  o'er, 
We  would  love  Him  more  and  more : 
Poor  and  needy  though  we  be, 
Teach  us,  Lord,  to  follow  Thee. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  215 


Friday,  January  1st,  1819. 

Almighty  Father,  "the  rolling  year  is  full  of 
Thee."  With  the  voice  of  thanksgiving  I  ap 
proach  Thee.  My  whole  being  offers  thee  praise. 
All  my  joys,  all  my  hopes,  I  place  in  thine  Om 
nipotent  hand,  with  the  repose  of  undoubting  / 
trust.  My  hopes,  my  joys,  have  I  said?  What 
right  have  I  to  call  any  thing  mine  ?  For  all 
mine  are  thine,  and  I  am  thy  servant. 

The  mercies  that  I  need,  Thou  knowest.  Sup 
ply  them  according  to  Thy  wisdom.  The  trials 
that  are  appointed  me,  Thou  knowest.  Let  Thy 
grace  be  sufficient  for  them.  Command  the  an 
gels,  whom  Thou  hast  appointed  our  ministering 
friends,  to  draw  nearer  with  their  sustaining 
smile,  their  strengthening  wing. 

The  soul  that  Thou  hast  incorporated  with 
mine,  in  every  request  for  Thy  favor,  grant  it  a 
double  portion.  Fill  us  more  and  more  with  Thy 
most  excellent  gift  of  charity.  Deign  to  accept 
us,  while  we  lay  upon  Thine  altar  all  that  we 
have  and  are ;  commending  ourselves  to  the 
watchfulness  of  the  compassionate  Redeemer,  to 
the  Spirit  of  grace  and  consolation,  to  the  un- 


216 

slumbering  Former  of  our  bodies  and  Father  of 
our  spirits,  through  time  and  through  eternity. 


"  Yet  oh !  Eternity's  too  short 
To  utter  all  thy  praise." 


I  think  the  chief  value  of  a  conservatory  is  to 
furnish  tokens  of  friendship  and  cheering  gifts 
for  the  sick.  Our  own  has  been  so  prosperous 
as  to  supply  us  bountifully  for  such  purposes. 
One  class  of  these  opportunities  has  been  more 
frequent  than  usual,  many  of  our  acquaintances 
having  suffered  from  an  epidemic  influenza,  whose 
effects  are  singularly  debilitating.  Among  them 
has  been  Emily ;  and  in  sending  her  our  sweetest 
flowers,  I  have  breathed  the  silent  prayer  that 
their  heavenly  fragrance  might  lead  her  in  Chris 
tian  obedience  and  love  to  their  bountiful  Giver. 


I  am  laboring  now  with  my  scholars  during 
their  intervals  for  conversation,  and,  indeed,  while 
they  are  working,  to  impress  the  importance  of 
truth  as  the  foundation  of  all  moral  duty,  and 
necessary  to  acceptance  with  that  Being  of  truth 
who  seeth  in  secret  and  rewardeth  openly.  I 
endeavor  to  simplify  the  subject  by  breaking  it 
into  parts.  I  require  of  them,  in  any  statement 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOUKNAL.  217 

they  wish  to  give  me,  or  any  narrative  I  desire 
them  to  relate,  a  strict  adherence  to  facts  as  they 
are,  and  to  words  just  as  they  were  spoken.  The 
obstacles  to  this  accuracy  are  not  so  often  a  love 
of  falsehood  as  inattention  to  minute  circum 
stances,  and  ignorance  of  the  precise  import  of 
language,  which  are  common  to  uneducated  minds. 
Therefore  I  try  to  quicken  their  habits  of  obser 
vation,  and  to  instruct  them  in  the  meaning  of 
words.  The  culture  of  the  powers  of  perception 
is  no  slight  part  of  a  proper  training.  Much  de 
ception  arises,  not  from  an  intention  to  deceive, 
but  from  neglecting  to  make  that  use  of  the  eyes 
and  ears  on  which  correct  testimony  depends.  To 
impress  the  import  of  words,  I  accustom  them  to 
constant  definition,  whether  in  reading,  spelling, 
or  conversation,  asking  them  what  they  under 
stand  by  such  and  such  a  word,  until  they  com 
prehend  and  remember  it. 

I  am  convinced  that  the  untruthfulness  which 
is  so  freely  charged  upon  the  lower  classes  and 
upon  children  often  comes  from  the  bewilder 
ment  of  undisciplined  minds,  or  from  want  of 
moral  courage  to  confess  what  has  been  done 
amiss.  If  you  set  fear  in  array  against  truth,  it 
will  be  very  likely  to  prevail,  where  there  is  no 
strong  religious  principle.  What  a  mistake  to 
frighten  those  who  have  committed  a  fault.  As 
K 


218  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL. 

if  the  pain  and  disgrace  of  doing  wrong  were  not 
sufficient  to  make  us  pitifully  yet  firmly  set  them 
right  again,  and  not  plunge  them  into  the  deeper 
shame  and  grief  of  falsehood. 

I  have  found  it  useful,  while  enforcing  this 
cardinal  duty  of  truth,  to  show  them,  at  the  close 
of  the  week's  school,  the  engraved  likeness  of 
some  person  eminent  for  integrity  founded  on  re 
ligion,  and  to  describe  the  character,  that  they 
may  bear  away  the  force  of  example  with  the  re 
membrance  of  the  picture  as  a  monitor  until  we 
meet  again. 


Among  my  most  favorite  plants  is  the  Cycla 
men  Persicum.  Its  fair,  white,  modest  flowers 
steal  forth  so  unostentatiously,  and  stay  so  long. 
I  had  never  seen  it  until  it  was  sent  by  one  of 
Henry's  acquaintances  at  a  distance.  It  has  be 
come  such  a  favorite  that  I  do  not  place  it  in  the 
conservatory,  but  keep  it  in  my  own  window,  as 
a  sort  of  intelligent,  suggestive  companion. 

A  modest  plant  was  sent  me  by  a  friend, 
Bearing  in  meekness  on  a  slip  of  board 
Its  own  cognomen,  like  a  christen'd  child, 
"Cyclamen  Persicum" 

That  blended  name 

Touch'd  pleasant  memories  of  classic  Greece, 
And  of  that  ancient  clime  where  Ormus  swells 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  219 

O'er  pearl-sown  depths,  and  to  whose  generous  hand 
The  princely  guerdon  of  the  peach  we  owe. 

A  host  of  leaves  my  welcome  guest  put  forth, 
Heart-shaped,  and  vein'd  with  purple — fleshy  stalks 
Of  sanguine  hue,  with  here  and  there  a  bud, 
Tiny  and  bent  to  earth.     It  shared  my  care 
With  jonquil,  and  the  sweet-bell'd  hyacinth, 
And  gorgeous  tulip.     Lovingly  it  took 
The  water-drops,  that  every  morn  I  shed 
As  on  the  forehead  of  a  healthful  babe. 
But  soon  a  blossom,  breaking  from  its  sleep, 
Bade  us  good-morning.     Full  of  simple  grace, 
Its  five  smooth  petals,  neatly  folded  back 
Like  a  white  rabbit's  ear,  were  faintly  flushed 
As  the  pure  snow  on  some  untrodden  height, 
That  feels  the  warm  kiss  of  the  parting  sun. 
Lapp'd  in  the  purple  of  its  central  orb 
Daintily  dwelt  the  stamens,  while  its  eye, 
Methought,  regarded  us  as  though  it  knew 
What  we  were  saying,  or  was  half  ashamed 
Of  its  own  praises. 

Other  buds  ere  long, 

On  pensile  stems,  like  lowly  shepherd's  crook, 
Straighten'd  their  floral  spines,  opening  their  lips 
To  the  soft,  wooing  air.     All  unassured, 
The  enfranchised  petals  timidly  diverged, 
Some  laterally,  and  some  on  half-poised  wing, 
Until  with  toil  they  found  their  fitting  place 
And  perfect  form.     I  felt  constrain'd  to  watch 
The  strange  transition,  though  each  blossom  seem'd 
Hurried  and  ill  at  ease,  like  half-dressed  belle 
Surprised  with  hair  en  papillote  at  noon, 
And  prone  to  hide  until  is  deftly  made 
Her  full  toilette. 

Sweet  flower,  I  love  thee  well 
For  thy  long  constancy,  amid  the  change 


220  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL. 

And  frailty  that  environ  thee.     Behold, 

The  fair  narcissus  corrugates  its  brow 

Like  some  proud  lady,  wrinkled  ere  her  prime. 

My  tulips,  flaunting  in  the  noonday  sun 

But  yesterday,  draw  close  their  tarnish'd  robes ; 

And  the  .o'er-wearied  hyacinth  exhales 

A  sickly  odor,  as  though  fever  raged 

In  its  spent  veins. 

But  thou,  my  Persian  flower, 
Week  after  week,  like  some  unshrinking  friend, 
Most  loving  in  the  winter  of  our  joys, 
Eenew'st  thy  beauty,  and  wouldst  lead  our  heart 
Unto  that  Hand  from  whence  each  season  conies 
In  wisdom  and  beneficence  to  man. 


Mary  Ann  and  Edgar  join  us  one  evening  in 
each  week  for  the  consecutive  perusal  of  history. 
Hume  is  at  present  occupying  us.  Such  inter 
course  is  perfectly  delightful.  The  remarks  thus 
called  forth  rivet  the  knowledge  in  remembrance, 
and  often  inspire  original  thought. 


Methinks  the  African  race  have  warmer  affec 
tions  and  more  lasting  attachments  than  our  hire 
lings  of  other  nations.  Probably  I  have  formed 
my  judgment  from  our  faithful  Amy.  So  long 
has  she  served  us  and  been  interested  in  our  wel 
fare,  both  as  a  family  and  as  individuals,  that  I 
feel  as  if  she  were  our  own  flesh  and  blood.  To 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  221 

be  served  from  the  heart  is  a  luxury,  a  privilege 
for  whose  continuance  we  should  give  thanks  to 
God. 


The  pleasures  of  feminine  industry  are  always 
worth  securing.  To  the  highest  domestic  happi 
ness  they  are  capable  of  adding  a  consciousness 
of  discharged  obligation,  of  marking  the  fleeting 
hours  with  usefulness,  and  of  adding  with  our 
own  hands  to  the  comfort  of  those  we  love.  A 
zest  is  thus  given  to  the  ministries  of  the  bright 
little  needle,  that  instrument  of  woman's  weal 
which  was  not  despised  in  Paradise.  "  Was  not 
Eve  the  first  seamstress  ?"  asked  one  of  my  schol 
ars,  as  I  was  giving  her  some  advice  about  her 
work.  Another  little  one,  as  quick  as  thought, 
rejoined,  "Who  was  her  teacher?  Who  sewed 
her  aprons  for  her  till  she  learned  how?"  One 
is  almost  shocked  at  the  familiarity  or  irreverence 
of  the  idea  ;  but  I  have  encouraged  them  at  prop 
er  times  to  converse  freely  with  me,  if  they  will 
never  interrupt  each  other.  Thus  I  am  in  the 
way  of  hearing  some  strange  and  bright  fancies. 


"  I  love  flowers,  and  all  that  God  loves,"  said 
the  eloquent  Bishop  Taylor.     Would  not  that 


222  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

conformity  to  what  is  revealed  to  us  of  the  divine 
character  be  a  better  evidence  of  congeniality  and 
acceptance  than  any  form  of  words  or  peculiarity 
of  doctrine?  " Men  build  the  walls  of  religious 
controversy  so  high  that  no  beam  of  divine  love 
can  penetrate  or  surmount  them,"  says  an  old 
writer.  How  was  the  sublime  poet,  Milton,  de 
prived  of  his  last  remaining  eye  ?  Not  by  the 
labors  or  demands  of  Urania,  but  his  bitter  po 
lemical  warfare  with  Salmasius,  whereby  the 
world  is  now  neither  better  or  more  wise. 


"  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  housekeeping," 
said  a  young  acquaintance  ot  ours  soon  to  be  mar 
ried.  "  I  am  sure  I  shall  not  like  it,  so  I  think 
we  will  take  our  present  abode  at  a  boarding- 
house."  This  seems  to  me  a  fraud  upon  her  fu 
ture  partner.  Putting  capital  into  the  concern, 
he  has  a  right  to  expect  that  it  shall  not  be  frit 
tered  away  by  mismanagement  or  indifference. 
The  most  common  trade  requires  an  apprentice 
ship,  and  this  profession,  which  involves  so  much, 
ought  not  to  be  entered  without  at  least  some 
wish  to  understand  it.  My  mother  says  there 
are  two  stages  in  the  novitiate  of  domestic  duty 
which  must  be  overcome  ere  it  can  be  performed 
with  pleasure.  One  is  the  ignorance  common  to 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  223 

all,  the  other  the  dislike  which  indolence  or  mis 
taken  education  fosters. 


Sandy  has  been  permitted  to  add  to  his  rural 
realm  a  few  hives  of  bees.  His  especial  pride 
are  they,  and  he  appears  to  understand  their 
management.  This  is  an  occult  science,  and  not 
always  a  safe  one.  I  hear  him  talking  to  them 
early  in  the  morning,  in  his  favorite  broad  Scotch 
dialect.  He  says  they  like  to  be  spoken  to  pleas 
antly,  and  maintains  that  they  will  not  sting  the 
family  who  take  care  of  them.  How  far  this  is 
a  fine  fancy  remains  to  be  proved.  I  recollect 
reading,  when  a  child,  in  the  Memoirs  of  Mar- 
montel,  a  very  pleasing  account  of  the  tempera 
ment  of  his  father's  bees,  and  how  an  aunt  of  his, 
when  they  were  oppressed  by  chill  and  humid 
weather,  used  to  take  them  in  her  hands  and 
warm  them  by  her  breath,  while  they  crept  in 
gratitude  over  her  neck  and  shoulders.  I  think 
it  will  be  some  time  ere  I  proffer  such  marks  of 
tender  regard.  They  surely  have  strong  charac 
teristics,  an  independent  way  of  providing  their 
food,  and  no  despisable  power  of  testifying  dis 
pleasure.  I  love  much  to  hear  their  busy,  mo 
notonous  song,  as  the  tireless  troop 

"  Make  war  upon  the  summer's  velvet  buds, 


224 


Which  pillage  they  with  merry  march  bring  home 
To  the  tent-royal  of  their  emperor." 


Shakspeare,  whose  knowledge  of  human  nature 
was  so  great,  seems  not  quite  so  well  informed 
about  the  polity  of  bees.  Modern  naturalists 
represent  them  as  under  feminine  rule.  The  re 
lation  that  their  chief  ruler  bears  to  them  would 
seem  to  make  their  form  of  government  matriar 
chal,  if  we  may  be  allowed  to  coin  a  word.  At 
all  events,  they  are  no  upholders  of  the  Salique 
law,  and  prosper  notwithstanding. 

The  great  bard  just  quoted  styles  them 

"  Creatures  who,  by  a  ruling  instinct,  teach 
The  arts  of  order  to  a  peopled  kingdom." 

Without  knowing  much  about  their  interior 
legislation,  I  love  to  watch  the  progress  of  their 
architecture  through  the  glass  in  their  hives, 
which  sometimes  they  secretively  cover.  Curi 
ously  they  find  their  way  into  every  crevice  of 
the  conservatory,  and  travel,  I  am  told,  for  miles, 
guided  by  favorite  odors.  Their  diligence  in  the 
garden  is  unwearied.  It  was  such  a  pleasant 
sight  to  see  them  clustering  around  the  apple- 
trees  when  they  were  in  blossom,  eagerly  enter 
ing  every  little  cup  for  its  draught  of  nectar,  and 
swaying  the  light  branches  downward  with  their 
weight.  That  kind  of  efflorescence  seems  pecul 
iarly  gratifying  to  their  taste,  and  the  honey 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL.  225 

drawn  from  it,  like  that  from  the  Southern  orange- 
flower,  has  an  exquisite  flavor. 


MY  BEES. 

Ye  gossip  not  with  the  insect  tribes 
That  pipe  mid  the  morning  dew, 

Or  with  light  wing  float  on  the  evening  breeze — 

Ye  talk  with  the  souls  of  the  flowers,  my  bees — 
What  do  they  say  to  you  ? 

Ye  whisper  long  to  the  rose's  heart — 

Doth  she  an  answer  of  love  impart  ? 

Scorning  the  butterflies'  gaudy  hue, 

Sub  rosa  to  them,  is  she  frank  to  you  ? 

Ye  linger  long  in  the  lily's  cup, 

The  apple-blossom  kiss ; 
The  little  white  clover,  with  pearl-drops  set, 
The  heliotrope  and  the  mignonnette, 

Prolong  your  strain  of  bliss. 
No  idle  lovers  ye  are,  I  ween, 
But  thrifty  and  close  as  a  banker  keen, 
Ye  turn  each  moment  to  good  account, 
Keeping  an  eye  to  the  full  amount. 

What  do  ye  bring  to  your  hive,  my  bees  ? 

Wealth  from  the  world  of  flowers. 
Ye  hoard  it  all  with  a  miser's  air, 
Ye  seal  it  well  with  a  chemist's  care, 

In  your  scientific  bowers. 
Builders  ye  are  of  a  fair  design, 
Without  the  architect's  rule  and  line, 
Striking  your  hexagons  all  so  true, 
Though  a  problem  of  Euclid  you  never  drew. 

But  amid  your  many  trades,  my  bees, 
I  am  told  you  are  teachers  too ; 

K  2 


226  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Though  to  earn  a  living,  and  teach  beside, 
Both  patience  and  zeal  must  be  sorely  tried. 
By  a  work  of  such  versatile  power  and  pride 

As  a  Yankee  scarce  could  do, 
Good  lessons  ye  give,  if  your  lore  we'd  heed, 
Of  the  happy  life  the  industrious  lead, 
Who  dwell  with  the  sweetness  in  Nature  found, 
And  shed  sweet  gifts  on  the  world  around. 


Henry  is  troubled  because  he  fancies  he  has 
checked  my  taste  for  writing  poetry,  which  he 
says  I  do  not  cultivate  as  before  our  marriage. 
He  kindly  adds  that  he  could  not  forgive  himself 
should  he  be  the  means  of  destroying  any  gift 
or  attainment  I  might  have  possessed  in  earlier 
years,  but  would  feel  it  his  privilege  as  far  as  pos 
sible  to  add  to  their  number.  So,  to  remove  his 
scruples,  I  immediately  wrote  a  dialogue  for  two 
boys,  in  whose  education  he  is  interested,  to  speak 
at  their  approaching  school  exhibition : 

Philosopher.  I  feel  the  weariness  of  life,  and  fain 
Would  rest  me  in  the  grave.     I've  had  my  day. 
I  know  what  earth  can  give  :  its  gilded  lures, 
Its  show  of  wealth,  its  shallowness  of  hope, 
Its  sound  of  friendship,  and,  more  light  than  all, 
Its  hollow  gratitude.     Lo !  he's  a  fool 
Who  stakes  his  birth-right  on  its  shifting  sands, 
Whelm'd  by  each  fickle  tide. 

Christian.  And  yet  this  world 

Is  counted  fair.     Hath  it  not  aught  beside  ? 

Phil.  Yes.     Shouts  of  power,  and  trumpet-blasts  of 
fame, 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  227 

That  make  the  hero  stagger  with  delight, 
And  then  with  death.    A  million  souls  went  forth 
At  Caesar's  bidding,  and  the  dagger's  point 
Let  out  his  own. 

The  Scandinavian  dyed 
The  snows  with  crimson  till  a  dubious  shaft 
Laid  him  as  cold  as  those  he  trampled  on. 
The  Corsican  rode  high  o'er  nations'  crests, 
And  quaffed  the  froth  of  honor,  yet  no  monk 
Caged  in  his  cloister  more  ignobly  sank 
Than  that  same  rampant  lion. 

Chris.  Is  this  all  ? 

Phil.  No.     Obelisk,  and  monument,  and  arch 
Triumphal,  and  the  column  to  the  cloud, 
For  storms  to  wreck,  and  dozing  time  to  spoil, 
And  worms  to  eat,  and  men  to  idly  ask 
Whose  names  they  guarded. 

Cliris.  Yet  this  life  is  sweet, 

And  earth  made  beautiful  with  flowers,  and  stars, 
And  winged  music.     Brother,  why  is  this  ? 

Phil.  Ah!  why?    We  know  not,  save  to  make  the 

weak 
Cling  closer  to  it  when  they're  torn  away. 

Chris.  Not  always  turns  our  planet  from  the  sun, 
Nor  hath  the  heavenly  Gospel  fail'd  to  leave 
Witness  of  glorious  peace. 

Phil.  You,  Christians,  yes, 

Your  creed  is  perfect,  but  your  deeds  are  lame  ; 
And  when  your  Master  bids  ye  dwell  in  love, 
Ye  lanch  your  javelins  at  a  differing  thought, 
And  count  a  doctrine  crime,  and  wake  a  strife 
Of  hate  and  bitterness,  compared  to  which 
The  honest  warfare  on  the  tented  field 
Is  merciful. 

Chris.        Do  ye  not  greatly  err 
To  judge  God's  truth  by  man's  infirmity  ? 


228  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL. 

Phil.^Would.  that  I  were  like  you ;  and  yet  methinks 
I'll  not  admit  so  much.     Alas!  alas! 
The  weight  of  life  misspent  doth  burden  me, 
And  in  my  heaviness  I  go  the  way, 
I  know  not  whither. 

Chris.  Brother,  the  deep  sigh 

Of  penitence  shall  ease  thee.     Let  us  kneel, 
Soul  by  the  side  of  soul,  to  Him  who  calls 
The  heavy-laden. 

Brother,  cast  away 

The  shield  of  scorn.     Go  love  some  little  child ; 
Cull  some  sweet  flower,  and  let  it  breathe  its  balm 
Into  thy  nature ;  throw  thine  alms  abroad ; 
Smile  on  the  outcast ;  cheer  the  darken' d  hut ; 
Uplift  the  sorrowing  by  thy  sympathy, 
And  thou  shalt  feel  the  morbid  stream  of  self 
Ebbing  away,  and  sunbeams  wrap  thy  soul. 


Henry  very  kindly  accepted  my  extempora 
neous  dialogue  for  his  proteges,  and  thinks  I 
have  happily  kept  in  view  their  different  style 
of  elocution  in  the  characters  assigned  them.  It 
animates  me  to  have  won  his  approval,  "for  his 
applause  is  more  than  fame." 


The  close  of  our  dreary  season  threw  out  a 
bright  smile,  but  fickle  and  deceptive  it  has  proved. 
Somebody  or  other,  perhaps  Thomson,  has  said 
or  sung,  that 

"  Winter,  lingering,  chills  the  lap  of  May." 
I  never  much  admired  his  metaphor. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  229 


Stern  Winter  quakes  upon  his  tottering  throne, 

Yet  heads  his  legions  from  the  stormy  North, 
"While  Spring,  the  uncrown'd  princess,  seeks  her  own. 

The  loyal  willow  hangs  his  banner  forth 
First,  mid  the  frowning  ranks  of  haughty  peers, 

While  by  the  brooklet,  creeping  all  about, 
The  cottage  children,  roaming  with  their  shears, 

Cut  cress  and  dandelion  to  help  out 
Their  simple  meal.     Lo !  thundering  on  his  path, 

The  usurper-king  prolongs  his  tyrant  reign; 
Yet  timid  Flora,  trembling  at  his  wrath, 

Still  slow  and  sure  her  rightful  rule  doth  gain ; 
But  when  rich  music  stirs  the  nested  tree, 
And  insect  life  exults — shall  I  be  there  to  see  ? 


What  was  the  gift  of  Spring  to  me?  yes,  its 
very  first  morning  ?  A  snow-drop  ?  an  arbutus  ? 
a  daffodil  ?  No,  the  Frost  King  kept  too  sharp 
watch  for  that ;  but  a  blossom  never  to  die  was 
laid  in  my  bosom.  It  has  spread  fresh  green 
ness  over  the  soul. 


Can  it  be  possible  that  for  four  weeks  I  have 
cherished  this  gem  in  my  heart?  Not  like  the 
mother  of  Moses,  hiding  from  the  footstep  of 
foes,  but  amazed  at  the  weight  of  my  own  great 
happiness. 


230  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

This  new  affection  has  awakened  in  the  young 
father  an  ineffable  tenderness.  It  has  opened  a 
deeper  fountain  in  his  manly  nature.  He  is  never 
tired  of  watching  the  creature  that  to  him  seems 
so  wonderful.  Scarcely  will  lie  trust  himself  to 
touch  it,  lest  he  should  disturb  its  velvet  mecha 
nism. 


My  mother  almost  fears  to  take  her  portion  of 
the  heart's  wealth  that  God  hath  given  us.  So 
full  has  she  been  of  apprehension  for  her  darling, 
that  she  can  not  at  once  lay  it  aside.  Methinks 
this  maternal  love  hath  ever  an  element  of  anxiety. 


"  Blessed  is  the  house  to  which  a  babe  is  sent." 
So  said  our  loved  patriarch  as  he  made  me  his 
daily  visit,  asking  that  this  child  of  the  third  gen 
eration  might  be  laid  in  his  arms.  As  he  bowed 
his  head  in  silence,  I  knew,  by  the  saintly  spirit 
on  his  brow,  that  there  was  a  pause  of  prayer. 
May  the  petition  of  the  righteous  man  for  his 
posterity  prevail  with  God. 


How  precious  is  a  nurse  that  understands  her 
duties,  and  is  faithful  to  them.     The  health  of  a 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL  231 

young  mother  throughout  life  may  depend  much 
upon  wise  care  at  such  a  crisis.  The  habitudes 
of  an  infant  are  of  such  importance,  too.  I  was 
surprised,  novice  as  I  am  in  such  matters,  to  see 
how  soon  it  might  be  led  to  that  regularity  in 
taking  food  and  sleep  which  promote  its  well-be 
ing  and  the  comfort  of  all  around. 

o 


How  wonderful  the  exquisite  workmanship  of 
God  in  this  miniature  of  humanly  1  Breathing, 
moving,  opening  its  eyes,  unfolding  its  tiny  fin 
gers,  every  change  is  a  study  of  which  I  never 
tire.  The  first  night  after  his  birth  I  could  not 
sleep  for  watching  him.  I  had  never  seen  so 
young  an  infant  before.  I  was  not  kept  waking 
by  pain,  but  by  the  curiosity  of  wondering  love. 
I  said  to  myself,  "Am  I  in  a  dream?  Is  this 
iay  baby?"  I  feared  that  the  breath,  heaving 
the  little  breast,  might  stop,  and,  when  any  slight 
sound  stirred  the  lips,  exclaimed,  "  God's  mys 
tery!  God's  mystery  1" 


It  is  a  nice  time  to  be  convalescent  when  Na 
ture  also  is  recovering  from  her  wintry  gloom. 
There  is  a  sweet  consent  between  her  and  the 
heart  in  their  song  of  gratitude.  A  warm  spring 


232  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL. 

rain  has  just  cheered  the  earth  and  tinted  it  with 
fresh  green. 


A  nurse  of  her  own  sex,  in  the  most  critical 
period  of  their  lives,  if  she  has  a  knowledge  of 
her  profession,  should  be  clothed  with  authority. 
She  takes  a  fearful  responsibility,  and  should  be 
obeyed  accordingly.  I  have  submitted  to  the  wis 
dom  of  mine,  and  found  benefit.  The  entire  re 
liance  which  her  knowledge  and  kindness  inspire 
keeps  the  mind  in  quietness.  Her  strenuous  ex 
clusion  of  company,  until  a  proper  time,  shelters 
the  nervous  system.  It  is  true  that  I  have  often 
fancied  myself  able  to  bear  effort  and  excitement, 
but  yielded  to  her  experience,  and  reaped  the  ben 
efit.  I  have  been  obedient  to  the  sway  for  which 
now  I  thank  her,  though  I  might  have  felt  at  the 
moment  that  I  could  fly  through  the  window, 
with  baby  in  my  arms,  and  follow  the  birds, 
who,  "singing,  up  to  heaven's  gate  ascend." 


Henry  is  prouder  of  his  baby  for  its  being  a 
boy,  that  I  can  see.  There  is  such  a  peculiar 
ring  to  his  voice  as  I  sometimes  hear  him  say 
ing,  "  We  have  a  boy  at  our  house.  You  must 
come  and  see  my  boy"  I  have  discovered  a  new 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  233 

beauty  in  the  name  of  husband  since  it  is  asso 
ciated  with  that  of  father.  Dignity  and  com 
pleteness  do  they  lend  to  each  other.  Around 
them  cluster  all  those  images  of  protection,  reli 
ance,  and  love,  which  our  weaker  sex  needs  from 
the  loftier. 


Our  first  drive.  Short  and  sweet.  I  did  not 
wish  to  return  so  soon.  Every  thing  was  so  fair — 
even  the  humblest  shrub  and  grass-blade.  Nurse 
essayed  to  cover  baby's  head,  thinking  that  at  his 
first  exposure  he  might  take  cold ;  but  he  was 
restless,  and  lifted  up  his  little  arms  as  far  as  his 
blanket  would  allow,  opening  his  eyes,  large  and 
round,  and  seeming  to  say,  "Let  me  see  this 
mighty  fine  world  I  have  got  into." 


The  baptism  of  our  child.  How  solemn  the 
service !  This  consecration  of  the  gift  lent  us, 
perhaps  for  a  little  while,  has  called  forth  the 
deepest  devotion  of  the  soul.  On  his  brow  the 
pure  water  of  the  covenant  has  rested,  and  over 
him  been  uttered  the  great  Triune  name.  Now 
we  more  realize  his  immortality,  and  our  own  ac 
countability  as  guardians  of  a  being  dedicated  to 
God,  teachers  of  what  may  be  tempted  to  evil, 


234  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

hostages  for  his  appearance  on  the  right  hand  at 
the  last  day.  Our  duty  as  parents  assumes  a 
weight  and  seriousness  never  before  realized. 
May  we  not  fail.  Lord,  instruct  us,  that  we  may 
instruct  the  child ;  for,  if  continued  in  life,  how 
soon  will  he  emerge  from  this  dream  of  infancy 
into  the  chances  and  changes  of  that  path  which 
passes  "under  the  cloud  and  through  the  sea," 
until  the  pilgrim's  staff  is  laid  down  at  heaven's 
gate. 


I  am  so  thankful  that  it  was  in  the  heart  of  my 
husband  to  give  our  child  my  grandfather's  name. 
It  was  my  secret  desire ;  but,  ere  I  had  breathed  it, 
he  kindly  proposed  it,  saying,  if  we  could  thus 
give  pleasure  to  the  living,  he  thought  it  our  duty, 
rather  than  to  select  from  fancy,  or  even  from 
among  names  of  the  departed.  The  happiness  that 
this  choice  has  imparted  surpassed  all  my  anticipa 
tions.  The  heart  of  the  aged  saint  expands  with 
fresh  vigor.  He  identifies  himself  with  the  little 
being  as  though  it  were  a  new  edition  of  his  book 
of  life.  He  is  so  affected  that  Henry  should  thus 
have  chosen  him  instead  of  his  own  ancestors. 
Every  returning  day  brings  a  new  gush  of  de 
light.  Never  can  I  sufficiently  express  my  grat 
itude  for  the  tender  consideration  thus  shown  to 
his  venerable  age. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  235 

My  kind  nurse  lias  gone.  I  can  not  help 
mourning  as  for  a  valued  friend,  though  I  was 
fortunate  that  her  engagements  should  have  per 
mitted  her  to  remain  with  me  almost  double  the 
usual  time.  The  secret  of  her  excellence,  beside 
her  knowledge  and  native  decision  of  character, 
is  a  conscientious,  consistent  piety.  I  have  dis 
covered,  though  she  makes  no  boast  of  her  doings, 
and  never  voluntarily  alludes  to  her  own  concerns, 
a  circumstance  in  her  history  worthy  of  remem 
brance  and  honor.  She  had  a  brother  in  the 
newly-settled  states  who  suddenly  died,  soon 
after  his  wife,  leaving  three  young  orphans.  She 
felt  that  it  was  her  duty  to  receive  and  shelter 
them.  No  one  had  she  to  send  on  this  distant 
and  difficult  embassy.  Therefore  she,  who  had 
scarcely  ever  before  passed  beyond  the  limits  of 
her  native  county,  set  forth,  a  lone  woman,  for 
the  far,  wild  West.  Traveling  night  and  day  by 
public  conveyances,  or  in  all  manner  of  vehicles, 
she  at  length  reached  the  new  settlements,  search 
ed  out  the  forsaken  little  ones  in  their  different 
places  of  shelter,  took  them  into  her  motherly 
care,  and,  with  the  babe  in  her  arms,  turned  home 
ward.  'No  trifle  was  it  to  perform  this  journey 
of  many  hundred  miles  with  those  three  helpless 
creatures.  Yet  she  trusted  in  God,  and  in  all 


236  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

danger  lie  succored  them.  Safely  to  her  own 
house  and  to  her  sister  she  brought  them,  and 
now,  by  her  own  industry,  supports  and  educates 
them.  All  this  is  without  ostentation  or  allusion 
to  the  subject,  unless  mentioned  by  others.  It 
is  beautiful  to  find  such  heroic  virtue  in  humble 
life,  and  a  self-denying  piety  that  looks  not  to 
this  world  for  appreciation  or  reward. 

Would  that  we  might  have  a  race  of  nurses 
like  her.  Would  that  we  had  some  institution 
for  their  training,  and  such  a  teacher  and  exam 
ple  at  the  head  of  it.  Whoever  should  project 
and  sustain  an  establishment  of  that  nature  would 
confer  a  greater  benefit  on  the  community  than 
by  endowing  a  professorship  of  some  science  or 
accomplishment,  to  be  laid  aside  or  forgotten 
when  the  duties  of  domestic  life  supervene. 


The  first  gleams  of  intelligence  in  babyhood 
are  so  sweet,  the  mind  beginning  to  look  through 
the  sleep  of  the  beautiful  clay.  I  am  sure  Willie 
spread  out  his  little  waxen  hand  to-day  and  look 
ed  at  it.  His  half-wondering  eyes  said,  "  Is  that 
mine  ?"  Ah !  and  what  are  you  going  to  do  with 
that  hand,  when  time  knits  its  sinews  and  reason 
guides  it  ?  The  good  grandfather  thinks  that  he 
made  him  smile.  Henry,  in  tossing  him  with  a 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  237 

strong  arm,  reports  that  he  laughed  aloud.  I  am 
not  so  certain.  Perchance  the  "wish  was  father 
to  the  thought." 


The  problem  is  at  length  solved.  The  long 
incredulity  is  over.  Steam  has  conquered  the 
ocean.  It  has  been  asserted  by  our  cautious 
ones  that  to  take  sufficient  fuel  and  surmount 
other  obstacles  to  the  voyage  would  be  impossi 
ble.  But  be  it  remembered  that  in  this  year 
1819,  and  of  the  independence  of  these  United 
States  the  43d,  the  steam-ship  Savannah  hath 
passed  prosperously  from  our  own  shores  to  those 
of  the  mother-land.  A  great  column  of  smoke 
was  seen  moving  up  the  Mersey,  and  the  Liver 
pool  people,  in  dismay  and  pity,  dispatched  two 
lighters  to  relieve  the  burning  vessel.  But  when 
the  character  of  the  pioneer  messenger  was  com 
prehended,  cheers  and  acclamations  swept  in  full 
tide  from  the  surrounding  coast. 


My  poor,  dear  scholars  have  come  back  again. 
During  my  sequestration,  my  loved  Mary  Ann 
has  taken  charge  of  them,  and  has  found  Nancy 
Dean,  now  fourteen  years  old,  quite  an  assistant 
in  fitting  their  work.  The  diligent  use  of  her 


238  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

hands  is  some  solace  for  the  crippling  effects  of 
the  scarlet  fever.  How  glad  the  affectionate 
creatures  were  to  return,  and  how  thankful  was 
I  to  be  able  to  resume  their  instruction  !  At  the 
close  of  the  school  they  requested  to  see  the  baby. 
Their  welcome  was  touching,  and  their  admira 
tion  so  profuse,  that  it  was  well  those  little  ears 
and  eyes  could  not  take  it  in,  and  be  vain.  He 
has  not  yet  had  experience  that  "flattery  is  the 
bellows  which  blows  up  sin."  Yet  I  was  grateful 
for  the  love  that  thus  reflected  itself  upon  an  un 
conscious  infant.  I  feel  now  how  precious  is  the 
simplest  offering  of  the  heart  to  a  teacher.  More 
and  more  do  I  realize  that  the  right  nurture  of 
the  poor  of  my  own  sex  is  a  benefit  to  the  com 
munity.  If,  instead  of  misery  and  crime,  they 
can  be  taught  industry,  and  neatness,  and  virtue, 
will  they  not  be  apt  to  carry  those  examples  into 
their  own  households  when  they  have  them,  and 
bless  a  future  race  as  well  as  the  present?  At 
any  rate,  I  am  cheered  by  the  hope  of  making  a 
patriotic  offering,  however  small  it  may  be,  to  the 
country  of  my  birth. 


What  a  touching  scene  this  morning !  A  del 
icate  little  baby,  of  the  age  of  Willie,  whose  moth 
er  has  recently  died,  was  brought  in  to  see  us. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  239 

Its  large,  sad  eyes  turned  earnestly  to  every  per 
son  and  place.  Thus  has  it  seemed  to  "be  search 
ing  for  its  lost  mother  ever  since  she  left  it.  She 
was  a  gentle,  good  woman,  and  I  had  that  kind 
of  acquaintance  with  her  which  nearness  of  seat 
in  church  creates,  and  now  and  then  a  pleasant 
smile  or  bow  at  passing.  But  now  methought 
she  stood  visibly  before  me,  bespeaking  kindness 
for  her  child.  The  eldest  daughter,  a  girl  of  re 
markable  energy,  takes  charge  of  the  family,  and 
tries,  as  far  as  may  be  in  her  power,  to  fill  the 
mournful  vacancy.  The  babe  is  neatly  and  ten 
derly  cared  for,  but  now,  amid  the  trials  of  den 
tition,  will  receive  scarcely  any  nourishment,  and 
pines  after  that  which  the  mother  took  with  her 
to  the  grave.  With  a  burst  of  irrepressible  tears, 
I  offered  that  proof  of  love  which  a  mother  only 
can  bestow.  The  enraptured  eagerness  of  that 
famished  infant,  and  its  look  of  intense  wonder, 
I  shall  never  forget.  The  loving  sister  was  fill 
ed  with  a  speechless  gratitude.  I  told  her  to 
bring  it  over  for  the  present  daily,  at  the  same 
hour.  I  hope  I  may  be  enabled  thus  to  give  this 
poor  little  forsaken  soul  some  shadow  of  content. 
My  heart  overflows  with  joy  for  the  comfort  al 
ready  imparted. 


240  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

Is  it  possible  that  a  babe  of  a  few  months  is 
susceptible  of  jealousy  ?  I  should  not  have 
thought  it.  Yet  when  wee  Willie  saw  another 
baby  in  what  he  counted  his  own  peculiar  place, 
he  opened  his  eyes  large  and  round,  until  there 
was  a  white  stripe  above  the  blue  iris.  Next  he 
knit  his  small  brows,  and  distorted  every  feature, 
and  stretched  his  hands  nervously  to  pluck  the 
intruder  from  the  post  of  honor ;  then  he  uttered 
loud,  passionate  cries,  till  my  pitying  mother  re 
moved  him  from  the  trying  sight.  When  he  was 
brought  back  he  cast  exploring  glances  into  every 
part  of  the  room,  so  as  to  be  sure  that  the  dis 
turber  of  his  peace  was  not  ensconced  in  some 
secret  nook.  Even  after  he  was  fully  reinstated 
it  was  not  easy  to  pacify  him,  but  he  regard 
ed  me  with  looks  of  reproach,  as  one  who  had 
conspired  with  the  invader  of  his  rights.  In 
deed,  after  he  had  been  lulled  to  sleep  on  my 
bosom,  the  long-drawn  sobs  attested  his  sense  of 
injury. 


The  happiness  and  caresses  of  a  babe  when  it 
wakes  in  the  morning  are  inexpressibly  endear 
ing.  I  can  not  make  up  my  mind  to  banish 
mine  to  a  crib.  Infancy  is  so  short,  I  would  fain 
enjoy  the  whole  of  its  blessed  intercourse.  The 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  241 

varied  sounds  of  Willie's  voice  after  his  long, 
unbroken  night's  sleep,  are  different  from  what 
they  are  during  the  day,  more  sweetly  musical, 
touching  the  chords  of  the  parents'  hearts  like  a 
strain  from  heaven. 


The  only  bequest  of  value  to  Henry  from  his 
uncle  was  a  large  tract  of  land  at  the  far  West. 
He  is  bound  by  the  conditions  of  the  will  to  dis 
pose  of  it  to  some  person  who  will  settle  upon  it 
and  improve  it,  unless  he  will  do  this  himself. 
The  time  has  arrived  for  the  decision,  and  he 
feels  that  he  can  not  understandingly  make  it 
without  a  view  of  the  premises ;  so  he  leaves 
with  little  warning,  that  he  may  avail  himself  of 
the  company  of  an  intelligent  gentleman  who 
visits  that  vicinity  for  a  somewhat  similar  pur 
pose.  How  can  I  part  with  him?  How  can  I 
be  divided  from  him  so  long  ?  The  journey  and 
change  of  scene  may  be  favorable  to  his  health, 
which  is  not  very  firm.  Selfish  heart,  be  silent. 


Poor  little  Willie  has  entirely  ceased  to  resist 
our  will  with  regard  to  the  motherless  babe.  The 
discipline  seems  perfect.  Familiarity  with  the 
daily  visitor  has  ended  in  love.  He  smiles  upon 


242  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL. 

it  as  they  unhood  and  unblanket  it,  like  a  blos 
som  coming  out  of  its  sheath.  To-day  he  would 
fain  kiss  it  and  give  it  one  of  his  toys ;  and, 
strange  to  say,  it  has  lost  its  marked  sadness, 
and  grown  plump  and  playful,  so  that  we  call  it 
the  melancholy  baby  no  more.  How  truly  I  re^ 
joice  to  witness  its  growth  and  improvement! 


Letters  from  my  husband.  Prosperously  on 
his  way  and  invigorated.  Methinks  regret  for 
his  absence  must  be  ingratitude  to  God.  His 
descriptions  of  the  grand,  bold  scenery  are  beau 
tiful.  An  artist  might  make  a  picture  from  his 
graphic  sketch  of  a  prairie : 

A  sea  at  rest,  whose  sleeping  waves  are  flowers. 


The  sorrows  of  dentition,  the  advance-guard 
of  those  many  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to,  have  come 
upon  the  baby.  He  moans  in  his  sleep,  and  is 
feverish  throughout  the  day.  I  am  now  much 
interested  in  physiological  works,  treating  upon 
the  welfare  of  infancy.  With  the  aid  of  dear 
mother's  counsel  and  experience,  I  fancy  myself 
quite  a  doctress.  To  this  I  was  inspirited  by 
my  excellent  and  accomplished  nurse,  who  says 
a  mother,  best  knowing  the  symptoms  of  her 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL.  243 

child,  has  an  advantage  in  treating  them  which 
no  other  person  can  possess.  If  a  true  mother, 
she  is  a  sentinel  always  at  her  post,  so  that  noth 
ing  can  escape  her.  Her  wisdom  lies  in  the  early 
discovery  of  every  foe,  in  parrying  the  first  indi 
cations  of  disease,  in  prevention  rather  than  in  act 
ive  medicine.  This  is  all  I  should  venture  to 
do,  and  not  cope  with  sickness  in  those  acute* 
forms  which  belong  to  the  province  of  the  regu 
lar  and  thoroughly-educated  physician. 


My  "beloved  grandfather's  delight  in  the  baby 
is  surprisingly  great.  Every  new  gleam  of  intel 
ligence  is  watched  and  commented  upon.  He 
evidently  feels  a  right  in  him,  as  bearing  his  own 
name,  which  gives,  if  not  a  new  lease  of  life,  at 
least  new  brightness  to  its  faded  years.  The 
beautiful  aged  head  and  the  fair  infant  one  are 
ever  in  close  proximity,  and,  as  all  babies  love  to 
be  whispered  to,  I  see  the  little  form  as  still  as 
sculptured  marble  while  the  saintly  voice  breathes 
into  its  ear  loving  words  or  holy  precepts.  Per 
chance  their  spirit  may  tinge  the  scroll  of  the 
heart  ere  slower  Reason  brings  her  pen  to  record 
them. 


244  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL. 

It  seems  so  long,  so  long,  since  my  husband 
went  away.  Just  as  I  was  feeling  anxious  for 
letters,  and  fearing  accident  or  illness,  he  arrived, 
radiant  with  health  and  happiness.  Every  heart 
under  our  roof  overflowed  with  joy.  The  rap 
ture  of  the  young  father,  who  fancied  his  boy  rec 
ognized  him,  knew  no  bounds.  How  can  I  ever 
express  my  gratitude  to  his  and  our  Preserver? 
Treasures  of  knowledge  his  observation  has  amass 
ed  for  our  entertainment  and  instruction.  The 
quaint  verse  of  an  old  hymn  gushes  up,  and  sings 
like  a  hidden  fountain  in  the  silent  heart : 

"  Oh,  God  of  grace, 

Henceforth  to  Thee 
A  hymn  of  praise 
My  life  must  be." 


So  invariably  good  have  been  my  scholars  dur 
ing  the  past  year  that  their  Christmas  gifts  took 
the  form  of  merited  rewards.  We  studied  to 
make  them  useful:  a  thick,  good  dress,  a  bag  rich 
ly  furnished  with  working  materials,  a  book  con 
taining  the  Testament,  Psalter,  and  Hymns  bound 
together,  with  the  name  of  each  in  gilt  letters  on 
the  cover,  were  in  addition  to  the  parcels  of  cake 
and  fruits  which  they  took  home,  and  on  which 
the  baby  put  his  little  hand  as  if  he  were  the  giver. 
Their  voices  at  parting,  and  those  of  the  friends 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  245 

present,  mingled  with  Henry's  magic  flute  in  the 
grand  melody  of  Old  Hundred,  to  the  words, 
"Praiso  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow." 


As  the  closing  hours  of  this  most  blessed  year 
fleet  away,  I  sit  at  the  still  eventide  by  the  cradle 
of  my  sleeping  child.  The  soft  rays  from  the 
shaded  lamp  gleam  on  the  placid  brow  of  inno 
cence  in  repose.  Beautiful  emblem  of  the  rest 
that  remaineth  for  the  people  of  God. 

The  Lord  be  with  him,  and  guide  him,  when 
my  head  shall  slumber  in  the  dust.  Ah !  why 
do  tears  cover  my  face  ?  Are  they  not  tears  of 


246  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUKNAL. 


Saturday,  January  1st,  1820. 

"  Oh,  my  Lord,  I  know  not  what  I  should  ask 
of  Thee.  Thou  only  knowest  what  I  need.  Thou 
lovest  me  better  than  I  can  love  myself. 

"Give  to  me,  Thy  child,  what  is  proper  for  me, 
whatever  that  may  be.  I  dare  not  ask  either 
comforts  or  crosses.  I  only  present  myself  be 
fore  Thee.  I  open  my  heart  unto  Thee.  Be 
hold  the  wants  that  I  am  ignorant  of.  Behold, 
and  do  according  to  Thy  mercy.  Smite  or  heal, 
depress  or  raise  me  up. 

"  I  adore  all  Thy  purposes  without  knowing 
them.  I  am  silent.  I  offer  myself  in  sacrifice. 
I  abandon  myself  to  Thee.  Henceforth  I  have 
no  will  but  to  accomplish  Thine." 


I  have  selected  on  my  birth-day  this  prayer  of 
the  saintly  Fenelon,  as  an  expression  of  the  im 
plicit  faith  I  would  aspire  to  rather  than  that  which 
I  have  already  attained.  Sometimes  I  have  felt 
that  my  religion  might  be  of  doubtful  root,  hav 
ing  had  no  trials  to  test  its  sincerity.  Perhaps, 
in  my  arrogance,  I  have  wished  that  it  should  be 
thus  tested.  Has  that  time  come  ?  If  so,  may 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  247 

the  perfect  resignation  of  the  form  of  words  that 
I  have  here  chosen  to  utter  enter  into  my  soul, 
and  indue  it  with  strength  from  above. 


The  first  word  of  a  babe !  Is  there  any  other 
such  music  to  the  ear  of  a  parent  ?  The  language 
of  our  own,  the  dove-cooing  of  his  love-moments, 
the  chirp  and  carol  of  his  joy,  have  long  been  un 
derstood  by  us.  Those,  sounds  shaped  by  im 
itation  were  sweet,  and  constantly  solicited ;  but 
the  application  of  the  first  words  as  a  being  of 
intelligence,  the  call  for  the  mother,  the  father, 
the  other  kindred  spirits,  the  outstretching  of  the 
round,  waxen  arms,  as  on  little,  tottering  feet  he 
hastens  toward  us,  is  a  delight  surpassing  all  pow 
er  of  description. 


My  husband's  heart  has  been  much  at  the  West 
since  his  visit  there.  He  desires  to  become  a  res 
ident.  His  only  brother,  who  has  been  for  sev 
eral  years  settled  on  a  large  tract  of  land,  given 
by  their  uncle  on  similar  conditions  with  his  own, 
urges  him  by  letters  to  the  pleasures  and  inde 
pendence  of  an  agricultural  life.  I  tell  him  I  have 
no  ambition  for  wealth ;  but  he  rejoins,  "  We 
have  a  boy.  We  must  legislate  for  him.  Have 


248  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

I  any  right  to  throw  away  his  princely  patrimo 
ny,  and  leave  him  unprovided  for,  perhaps  depend 
ent  ?  Your  grandfather's  pension  will  expire 
with  him.  When  I  am  worn  out  with  this  gal 
ley-slave  business  in  the  bank,  what  will  become 
of  our  child  ?"  So  work  the  seeds  of  ambition  in 
the  strong  soil  of  a  father's  love. 


Alas !  Henry  grows  thin  and  sad.  He  starts 
from  broken  sleep,  murmuring  of  the  green  West. 
His  toil  at  the  bank  is  disgusting  to  him.  His 
dark  eyes  have  lost  their  lustre,  and  evidently  his 
health  fails.  How  can  I  distress  my  heart  of 
hearts  ?  God  knows  I  would  lay  down  my  life 
for  him.  Not  for  myself  do  I  hesitate  a  moment ; 
but  oh !  for  those  who  live  in  our  life,  and  whose 
advancing  years  lead  them  to  rest  more  and  more 
upon  us.  He  has  said  to  me,  "  Make  them  will 
ing."  I  will  try.  Heaven  help  me. 


My  dear,  blessed  mother !  I  have  spoken  to 
her  with  many  tears,  she  from  whom  I  have  never 
been  separated  since  I  was  first  laid  in  her  bo 
som.  She  anticipated  me.  Though  nothing  had 
been  said  to  her  of  this  matter,  her  spirit  seemed 
to  have  had  an  indwelling  with  mine.  She  met 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL.  249 

the  subject  with  such  self-abandonment,  and 
poured  strength  into  my  weaker  soul.  After 
finding  that  Henry's  preference  was  pervading 
and  persistent,  she  said,  "  Your  vow  at  the  altar, 
my  darling,  was  not  the  allegiance  of  a  summer's 
day,  but  for  all  changes  until  the  last."  We 
held  each  other  in  a  long  embrace,  and  then  she 
sank  into  the  attitude  of  prayer,  while  I  knelt  by 
her  side.  Her  supplications  for  submission,  di 
vine  guidance,  and  strength  according  to  our  day, 
will  be  answered.  I  feel  already  their  holy  in 
fluence,  and  am  fortified. 


No  one  has  yet  spoken  on  this  painful  theme 
to  the  aged  grandfather,  who  seems  garnering 
himself  up  in  the  love  of  the  child  with  an  al 
most  fearful  idolatry.  I  have  told  Henry  that 
this  must  devolve  on  him.  Last  evening  I  heard 
him  say,  in  an  adjoining  parlor, 

"  Will  you  counsel  me,  dear  grandfather,  on  a 
subject  of  great  importance  ?" 

"  State  your  case,  and  I  will  endeavor  to  do 
so." 

"You  are  aware  that  my  only  patrimony  is  a 

broad  expanse  of  land  at  the  West,  which,  by  the 

written  will  of  the  donor,  I  am  bound  either  to 

settle  upon  or  to  sell  at  a  certain  time,  which  time 

L2 


250  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

has  now  come.  By  my  recent  visit  to  it  I  have 
learned  its  value,  and  that  to  part  with  it  at 
the  present  rates  of  sale  would  be  a  sacrifice 
approaching  madness.  What  is  my  duty  to 
do?" 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  are  gravely  asking 
my  opinion  whether  to  remove  or  not  to  the  far, 
wild  West?" 

"Even  so,  my  father,  for  such  my  heart  calls 
you,  having  no  other  since  the  death  of  my  uncle. 
He  was  full  of  enthusiasm  about  the  settlement 
of  the  newer  portions  of  our  country,  and,  had  he 
been  younger,  would  have  gone  thither  as  a  pio 
neer.  How  happy  I  have  been  to  live  here,  sur-> 
rounded  by  all  that  I  love,  you  know ;  but,  being 
now  a  father,  I  am  called  to  look  beyond  myself. 
I  must  act  for  him  who  bears  your  name.  Have 
I  a  right  to  dispose  of  what  will  eventually  be 
his — what  will  secure  him  wealth  and  influence 
— for  a  paltry  consideration  ?" 

"  You  argue  as  if  you  were  sure  that  nothing 
could  befall  him  on  the  road  to  manhood.  But 
how  do  you  expect  to  live  in  that  wilderness  ?" 

"  The  means  of  subsistence  are  more  abundant 
there  than  you  in  these  worn-out  states  can  con 
ceive.  I  have  already  established  a  practical 
farmer  on  a  part  of  the  estate,  and  caused  a 
house  to  be  erected  in  the  simple  style  of  that 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL.  251 

country,  which  will  afford  comfortable  shelter 
until  a  better  one  can  be  obtained.  These  steps 
I  thought  advisable,  even  if  I  should  decide  to 
sell  the  premises." 

"Will  you  take  away  in  my  feeble  age  the 
lamb  that  has  grown  up  in  my  bosom  ?  the  little 
darling  that,  as  an  angel,  has  newly  come  to  our 
house?" 

"  Oh,  do  not  reason  in  that  way.  You  will 
break  my  heart." 

"  If  you  are  pressed  in  spirit  to  go,  leave  them 
behind." 

"My  blessed  grandfather,  you  would  not  ask 
impossible  things." 

"Leave  me,  then,  to  my  grave.  It  will  come 
all  the  sooner  for  this." 

"Ah!  no.  Life  is  still  strong  within  you. 
Nurtured  in  the  athletic  habits  of  the  olden  time, 
you  have  more  vigor,  and  a  better  prospect  of 
continuance,  than  many  who  are  twenty  years 
younger.  You  will  come  and  see  that  great, 
glorious  West.  Your  noble  heart,  that  stood 
out  the  war-tempest  without  shrinking,  will  re 
joice  more  in  its  prosperity  than  those  who  know 
not  the  cost  of  its  freedom.  Yet,  though  I  con 
fess  that  I  long  for  the  free,  earnest  life  of  a  large 
agriculturist,  and  believe  it  would  also  be  congen 
ial  to  her  whom  we  both  love  as  our  own  souls, 


252 

do  not  suppose  that  we  will  go  without  your  con 
sent — your  full  and  free  consent." 

"And  this  do  you  expect  me  to  give?" 

"  When  you  were  called  forth  to  the  battles 
of  the  Revolution,  did  you  say  I  would  be  ex 
cused  ?  My  home  is  too  pleasant  ?  Let  others 
go ;  I  am  not  ready ;  I  am  afraid  ?  No  ;  you 
took  in  your  hands  your  life  and  your  sacred 
honor,  and  God  gave  salvation  to  your  native 
land.  The  patriotism  of  your  times  was  the 
sword.  Is  not  ours  to  build  up  the  waste  places, 
to  plant  the  unbroken  soil  with  the  right  seed, 
ere  the  wicked,  entering  in,  shall  sow  tares  and 
destroy  the  harvest?  Were  Washington  here, 
would  he  not  say  go  forth,  and  the  Lord  be  with 
you  ?  And  will  not  you,  a  disciple  of  Washing 
ton,  a  follower  of  Jesus,  say  the  same  ?" 

"You  have  asked  of  me  more  than  man  ever 
asked  before — the  apple  of  my  eye,  and  the  core 
of  my  heart.  Yet  take  them.  I  give  my  con 
sent." 

"  Oh,  not  consent  alone.  It  must  be  a  bless 
ing.  We  can  not  depart  in  peace  except  thou 
bless  us." 

"My  son,  you  have  conquered.  The  Lord 
bless  and  keep  you.  The  good  Lord  strengthen 
me  to  say  at  all  times,  His  will  be  done." 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL.  253 

This  morning,  when  I  came  down  to  break 
fast,  the  beautiful  old  man  took  both  my  hands 
and  wept  like  a  child.  Then  I  sat  long  on  his 
knee,  as  he  has  loved  to  have  me  do  from  infan 
cy,  and,  leaning  my  head  against  his,  comforted 
his  heart.  As  I  whispered,  "  Our  God  loveth  a 
cheerful  giver,"  he  said,  smiling  through  his  tears, 
"I  ought  not  to  have  allowed  you  thus  to  get 
the  advance  of  me.  I  should  have  told  you  that 
myself.  Long  have  I  been  in  Christ's  school, 
yet  babes  and  sucklings  teach  me." 


How  blessed  is  the  zeal  of  true  friendship, 
how  sustaining  its  sympathy !  Mary  Ann,  who 
from  school-days  has  been  as  a  sister,  now  proves 
herself  one  indeed.  She  has  consented  to  take 
charge  of  my  scholars.  My  poor,  dear  scholars, 
must  I  leave  them  ?  She  will  pursue  the  same 
course  to  which  they  have  been  accustomed,  and 
be  assisted  by  Nancy  Dean,  who  is  skillful  with 
her  needle,  and  fully  capable  of  fitting  work,  and 
will  be  allowed  a  small  regular  salary  for  the 
comfort  of  her  feeble  health  and  poverty.  So, 
in  this  respect,  it  seems  that  good  will  come  from 
my  going,  while  in  my  vanity  I  was  counting  it 
but  as  loss  to  those  left  behind. 


254  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

I  have  implored  those  who  are  most  dear  not 
to  indulge  grief  in  my  presence  at  our  approach 
ing  separation,  or  allow  me  to  do  so  in  theirs.  I 
would  not  enervate  myself  with  vain  regrets.  I 
need  their  clear  counsel,  and  all  my  own  strength, 
for  the  necessary  preparations.  I  would  not  be 
remembered  by  tears,  but  as  a  sunbeam,  and  pray 
of  Him  who  wisely  appointeth  every  stage  of  our 
pilgrimage  that  I  may  change  my  orbit  like  a 
cloudless  star. 


It  is  decided  now  that  we  go  when  the  season 
shall  have  sufficiently  advanced  to  render  the 
roads  pleasant  for  traveling.  We  shall  proceed 
in  public  vehicles  a*s  far  as  their  routes  corre 
spond  with  ours,  and  at  the  point  of  termination 
purchase  a  large  wagon  and  horses,  with  such 
housekeeping  articles  as  we  can  not  take  from 
here,  the  stage-coach  admitting,  of  course,  only 
our  trunks  of  clothing.  Henry  has  written  to 
have  the  house  in  readiness,  and  some  additions 
to  be  made,  which  he  did  not  direct  while  there 
was  a  doubt  whether  we  should  ourselves  occupy 
it.  He  has  recovered  his  health  and  spirits  sine© 
the  ultimate  decision  has  been  made,  and  should 
not  I  be  grateful  to  have  been  the  instrument  of 
restoring  to  him  the  brightness  and  energy  of  his 
own  noMe  nature  ? 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  255 

Baby's  first  tooth.  Take  no  offense,  my  good 
journal,  that  I  should  make  such  an  inscription 
on  thee.  New  cares  bring  us  new  pleasures,  and, 
in  the  maternal  record,  the  item  that  I  have  chron 
icled  is  one  of  grave  importance ;  so  count  it  no 
derogation  from  thy  dignity  that  the  event  should 
be  intrusted  to  thy  keeping. 


Good  old  George  the  Third  has  paid  that  debt 
which  Nature  levies  both  on  prince  and  peasant. 
In  the  regal  apartments  of  Windsor  Castle,  bent 
beneath  the  weight  of  fourscore  and  two  winters, 
Death  found  and  took  him.  Mental  light  had 
been  long  extinguished,  save  in  snatches  and 
gleams,  which  always  revealed  the  tendencies  of 
a  feeling  and  kind  heart.  In  the  domestic  vu> 
tues  he  set  a  good  example  for  kings.  Strongly 
contrasted  in  structure,  accomplishments,  and 
motives  was  he  to  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  who 
has  been  called  the  "best  actor  of  majesty  in 
Europe."  No  such  ambitions  had  this  venerable 
monarch.  His  birth-day  (June  4th)  was,  pre 
vious  to  1776,  a  glad  festival  among  these  colo 
nies.  The  succeeding  war,  which  changed  our 
relations,  created  a  bitterness  which  was  expend 
ed  rather  on  the  ministry  than  on  the  monarch. 


256  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL. 

Those  who  had  been  brought  up,  Sabbath  after 
Sabbath,  to  pray  for  him  as  the  father  of  the  peo 
ple,  found  it  difficult  to  count  him  as  their  foe. 
Thus  there  has  been  always  among  our  older  in 
habitants  a  lingering  of  filial  feeling  toward  the 
white-haired  king,  which  prepared  us  all  to  pay 
a  gentle  tribute  over  his  honored  grave. 


WILLIE'S  FIRST  BIRTH-DAY. 

First  birth-day !     Many  a  wish  benign, 
With  fond  affection's  smile,  is  thine, 

And  fonder  kiss, 

Thou,  who  o'er  life's  alluring  tide 
In  tiny,  flower-crown' d  bark  dost  glide, 

Our  babe  of  bliss. 
Another  year  will  bring  the  rose 
More  freshly  o'er  thy  cheek  of  snows, 

And  deftly  teach 

That  wondrous  art  to  name  the  toy, 
And  make  thy  wish  a  parent's  joy, 

"With  lisping  speech. 
Oh !  that  thy  virtues,  sown  with  care, 
And  foster'd  by  parental  prayer, 

The  heart  might  leaven, 
Give  its  young  features  life  and  form, 
And  make  its  pure  soil  rich  and  warm 

For  plants  of  heaven. 


Is  it  wrong  that  I  do  not  wish  to  see  the 
spring  blossoms  ?  to  listen  to  the  murmur  of  the 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOUKNAL.  257 

"bees  ?  that  I  go  not  forth,  as  of  yore,  among  the 
early  hyacinths,  or  to  draw  the  first  arbutus  from 
its  hidden  cell  ?  It  is  not  that  I  forget  to  admire 
them,  or  to  thank  their  Giver,  but  I  would  fain 
avoid  multiplying  the  charms  and  ties  of  a  spot 
I  am  about  to  leave.  Already  is  it  too  strongly 
incorporated  with  all  my  tenderest  memories,  so 
that  I  am  as  one  spell-bound  when  I  wander 
about  it  and  think  I  may  return  no  more. 


Always  is  God  better  to  us  than  our  fears, 
than  our  hopes.  Mary  Ann,  my  darling  friend, 
is  to  take  my  place.  She  will  occupy  my  own 
chamber,  and  be  to  those  I  leave  behind  a  bless 
ed  comforter.  Her  mother,  who  has  several 
daughters,  most  kindly  permits  this  arrangement. 
Edgar  also,  wko  aspires  to  the  hope,  at  some  fu 
ture  day,  of  the  dearest  connection  with  my  loved 
substitute,  will  be  often  at  the  abode  which  I 
said  in  my  foolishness  must  be  left  desolate. 
Now  is  the  crushing  load  lifted  from  my  inmost 
soul.  Now  am  I  free  to  follow  my  husband  and 
not  repine.  With  him  I  could  be  content  to 
dwell  upon  an  Alpine  rock,  or  a  lone  island  in 
the  melancholy  main ;  but  to  leave  those  alone 
who,  from  my  birth-hour,  through  the  helpless 
ness  of  infancy,  the  waywardness  of  youth,  have 


258  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

never  forsaken  or  forgotten  me  for  a  moment,  to 
cast  them  forth  and  leave  them  amid  declining 
years  and  sickness  to  the  mercy  of  strangers, 
would  have  uprooted  for  me  all  capacity  of  -en 
joyment.  Now  I  can  intrust  them  to  the  ten 
der  hand,  the  brave  heart,  and  strike  the  key- 
tone  of  undying  praise  to  Him  who  has  had  com 
passion  on  my  weak  faith,  and  permitted  me  to 
see  with  my  own  eyes  the  blessed  provision  He 
hath  made  for  their  protection  and  comfort. 


Little  Willie's  foster-sister,  no  longer  the  pen 
sive  baby,  but  the  plump,  merry  child,  is  to  be 
brought  over  every  day  to  amuse  the  household 
after  our  departure.  She  is  in  advance  of  him  in 
the  accomplishment  of  talking,  as  our  sex  are 
wont  to  be.  Nevertheless,  she  borrows  his  baby 
appellatives  of  "greatie-papa"  and  "greatie-mam- 
ma,"  which  he  has  always  been  strenuous  in  sub 
stituting  for  "grandfather"  and  "grandmother." 
I  find  it  pleases  them  to  be  thus  addressed  in 
his  dialect  by  her  bird-like  voice.  Very  likely 
he  may  make  these,  his  favorite  titles,  familiar 
to  the  echoes  of  his  Western  home. 


I  have  been  considerably  occupied,  and  found 
much   pleasure  in  preparing  keepsakes  for  my 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  259 

friends  and  acquaintances.  I  have  made  an  ac 
curate  list  of  them,  and  think  not  one  has  been 
overlooked.  The  choice  Looks  of  my  library 
availed  for  many,  in  some  of  which  I  put  little 
embroidered  marks  to  designate  passages  worthy 
of  remembrance,  or  such  as  we  had  perused  to 
gether.  Some  of  these  marks  were  emblematic ; 
on  others  I  wrought  such  phrases  as  "  Dinna 
forget,"  "God  bless  you,"  or  simply  my  own  ini 
tials.  For  the  most  respected  or  intimate  I  em 
broidered  the  chapter  and  verse  of  those  exquisite 
passages,  Genesis  thirty-first  and  forty-ninth,  and 
Philippkins  first  and  third.  Articles  of  taste  or 
of  nice  apparel,  which  I  could  not  take  with  me, 
I  also  found  recipients  for,  giving  some  attention 
to  the  matter  of  adaptation.  My  pensioners,  the 
poorest,  the  oldest,  the  youngest,  have  also  every 
one  received  something  that  may  be  useful,  or 
quicken  serious  and  holy  thought.  I  would  be 
remembered  by  them  all  in  some  way  to  do  them 
good,  if  possible — lasting  good.  Perchance  they 
may  sometimes,  in  their  moments  of  devotion, 
breathe  a  petition  for  the  wanderer  from  the 
graves  of  her  fathers,  who  pitches  her  tent  to 
ward  the  setting  sun.  At  all  events,  I  have  had 
great  satisfaction  in  these  gifts,  and  have  realized 
the  truth  of  the  inspired  assertion  that  it  "is 
better  to  give  than  to  receive." 


260  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

I  have  taken  leave  of  every  part  of  the  home 
in  which  I  was  born.  Even  the  articles  of  fur 
niture  that  I  had  aided  to  keep  in  order  had  the 
aspect  of  friends.  In  proportion  to  the  care  I 
had  bestowed  on  them,  and  not  their  intrinsic 
value,  was  their  power  over  me.  I  wonder  if 
woman's  cares  are  not  the  secret  of  her  attach 
ments?  To  each  parlor,  to  the  library,  to  my 
mother's  apartment,  to  my  grandfather's,  to  my 
own  quiet  writing-room,  to  the  little  oratory,  my 
soul's  home,  to  the  nursery,  where  my  child  was 
sleeping  in  the  cradle,  I  have  made  the  lingering, 
parting  visit.  I  could  not  but  thank  those  inan 
imate  objects  for  the  happiness  they  have  helped 
to  give  my  most  happy  life.  In  Amy's  attic, 
whose  walls  are  adorned  with  a  variety  of  framed 
prints  which  had  been  given  her,  I  found  her 
weeping,  and  said,  "My  dear,  good  friend,  be  to 
my  mother  and  grandfather  what  you  have  al 
ways  been.  I  could  not  leave  them  with  an  easy 
mind  but  for  you.  I  thank  you  for  all  your  kind 
offices  to  me.  Let  us  both  walk  in  the  steps  of 
our  Savior,  that  we  may  live  together  in  heaven." 

I  have  taken  leave  of  the  conservatory,  the 
busy,  singing  bees,  the  nested  birds,  the  great, 
broad-armed  elms.  To  the  lowliest  violet  at  their 
feet  I  breathed  "thanks"  and  a  loving  "good- 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL.  261 

by."  Henry  says  we  shall  be  here  again  in  two 
years.  Such  words  are  more  easily  uttered  than 
verified.  Still,  I  bear  with  me  the  shadow  of 
this  hope  in  every  farewell.  I  bade  adieu  to  all 
home  objects  at  the  close  of  day,  because  we  are 
to  leave  quite  early  in  the  morning.  Many 
friends  came  afterward  with  good  wishes  and 
loving  words.  It  was  a  great  comfort  that  our 
good  pastor  staid  and  conducted  for  us  our  last 
family  worship.  Our  last  did  I  say  ?  I  meant 
only  our  last  at  this  time.  May  the  incense  of 
that  parting  prayer  rise  acceptably  to  our  God 
from  the  peaceful  altar  which  He  has  so  long 
deigned  to  bless. 


It  is  over.  Would  that  the  Lethe-stream 
might  ingulf  that  hour.  And  yet  the  scene  will 
be  with  me  a  soul-set  picture  till  all  remembrance 
fades. 


It  was  the  early  gray  of  the  morning  when  the 
stage-horn  summoned  us.  There  must  be  no 
waiting.  All  things  were  ready.  The  baby, 
roused  from  his  usual  slumbers,  looked  wonder- 
ingly  around.  Let  me  not  think  again  of  the 
parting  embrace.  No,  never. 


262  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOURNAL. 


At  our  last  glance  my  mother  stood  at  the 
door  with  that  calm  look  which,  I  doubt  not, 
she  would  wear  though  soul  and  body  severed. 
Sweet  Mary  Ann's  arm  was  around  her.  My  aged 
grandfather  trembled  like  a  bent  branch  shaken 
by  the  wind.  Edgar  was  near,  and  full  of  sym 
pathy.  Poor  Amy  was  of  the  group,  and,  though 
I  had  cautioned  her,  was  not  able  to  restrain 
her  grief.  Blessed  wheels !  that  bore  us  so 
swiftly  away. 


Alas !  might  not  that  last  drop  have  been 
spared  in  the  cup  of  bitterness  ?  The  coach 
stopped  for  a  few  moments  at  the  post-office. 
There  stood  all  my  scholars,  though  the  sutoi  had 
not  yet  risen.  I  had  bidden  them  farewell  be 
fore  ;  I  had  given  them  my  parting  precepts  and 
gifts ;  I  had  commended  them  to  our  common 
Father,  the  Maker  of  heaven  and  earth.  Yet 
there  they  stood  again,  to  have,  as  they  said,  one 
more  look..  They  climbed  upon  the  wheels ;  they 
begged  me  to  hold  out  the  baby  for  them  to  kiss  ; 
they  pressed  little  keepsakes  into  his  hand  and 
mine ;  they  cried  loud  and  passionately.  What 
mean  ye  thus  to  weep  and  to  break  my  heart  ? 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  263 

Through  that  day's  journey  I  bent  my  head 
over  the  child,  soothing  him,  and  anticipating  his 
wants.  How  could  I  note  the  landscape  ?  How 
could  I  converse  ?  My  husband  did  not  require 
it.  He  feels  the  weight  of  the  sacrifice.  His 
heart  is  bowed  within  him.  Yet  I  did  not  go  to 
be  a  clog  or  a  self-seeker.  As  soon  as  possible, 
I  will  be  his  aid  and  solace. 

At  our  first  night  in  a  strange  tavern  I  should 
have  wept  but  for  distressing  him.  When,  at 
length,  the  deep  breathing  announced  that  he  had 
found  rest,  and  Willie's  home-sick  moans  were 
allayed,  the  blessed  tears  gushed,  and  the  suffo 
cating  anguish  subsided. 


O  faithful  friend,  kind  old  journal,  thou  hast 
not  been  forgotten.  But  upon  our  long  and 
weary  journey  it  has  been  impossible  to  find  time 
and .  conveniences  for  writing  beyond  the  brief, 
daily  sketch  in  letters  expected  by  the  dear  ones 
at  home.  Many  interesting  localities  have  we 
seen,  and  much  glorious  scenery,  such  as  quick 
ens  the  heart  with  admiration  of  a  country  which 
is  stretching  out  its  limbs  like  a  waking  giant. 
Wonderful  indeed  is  it  in  its  resources  and  its 
rapid  growth.  In  safety  have  we  been  borne 
onward,  and  in  health.  We  have  reaphed  the 


264  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL. 

point  where  the  public  conveyances  leave  us,  and 
are  resting  for  a  few  clays,  and  purchasing  some 
of  the  necessary  articles  that  we  could  not  take 
with  us.  Willie's  little  heart  still  turns  back 
ward  with  sorrowful  tenacity.  Through  the  day 
he  is  amused,  but  at  night  the  great  home-sick 
ness  comes  over  him.  Whenever  he  retires,  he 
cries,  "  Come,  greatie-mamma !  come,  greatie- 
papa!"  and  thus  moans  himself  to  sleep.  These 
are  his  last  sounds  at  night,  his  first  in  the  morn 
ing.  It  is  painful  to  see  such  constancy  of  grief, 
and  hear  the  long,  quivering  sobs  from  his  little 
heaving  breast,  even  after  slumber  has  overtaken 
him.  I  had  thought  the  troubles  of  infancy  brief, 
and  more  readily  soothed. 


We  have  been  fortunate  in  securing  in  this 
place  almost  every  thing  that  we  sought  except 
a  servant.  That,  indeed,  seems  a  sine  qua  non, 
and  we  relied  on  finding  it  here,  since  none  from 
the  older  settled  states  could  be  tempted  to  what 
they  deemed  expatriation.  To  our  great  sur 
prise,  that  feeling  seems  equally  strong  here. 
Plenty  of  able-bodied  damsels  have  presented 
themselves  in  consequence  of  our  inquiries,  and 
sturdy,  middle-aged  women,  with  square  hands 
and  broad  shoulders,  looking  as  if  they  could  fell 


LUCY   HOWARD  S   JOU 

a  forest.  The  rate  of  wages  was 
all  promised  well  till  the  remote  location  was 
mentioned ;  then  negotiation  was  at  an  end,  and 
persuasion  powerless.  One  had  "  no  notion  of 
going  out  into  the  wild  woods;"  another  "was 
not  a  bush-whacker,"  with  other  expressions 
equally  significant  and  genteel.  These  jar  pro- 
vokingly  on  Henry's  nerves,  with  his  romantic 
views  of  our  Utopia.  There  appears  to  be  no 
other  way  than  to  depend  for  the  present  on 
Sandy,  who  is  as  good  within  the  house  as  with 
out,  and  on  the  family  of  the  farmer,  whose  dwell 
ing  being  within  our  own  inclosure  may  be  able 
readily  to  render  assistance.  At  all  events,  it 
will  not  do  for  me  to  look  back.  No :  onward 
must  be  our  motto,  and  I  hope  upward  also. 


We  have  purchased  an  immense  covered  wag 
on  and  a  powerful  pair  of  horses.  It  is  aston 
ishing  how  much  may  be  stowed  away  in  these 
houses  upon  wheels,  and  yet  leave  space  for  our 
persons.  Henry  has  engaged  another  vehicle  of 
equally  formidable  size,  with  a  practiced  driver, 
to  accompany  us  to  our  place  of  destination,  car 
rying  additional  varieties  of  what  the  Scotch  call 
"  plenishing,"  and  also  a  small  tent,  as  we  are  to 
pass  one  night  on  the  way  out  of  the  reach  of 
M 


266  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL. 

habitations.     That  will  give  quite  an  Oriental 
feature  to  our  cavalcade. 


What  a  unique  and  wonderful  object  is  a 
prairie !  We  have  now  a  far  better  view  of  it 
than  we  could  have  had  in  the  rapidity  of  stage 
coach  traveling.  It  is  impossible  to  describe  to 
one  who  has  never  seen  it  the  effect  on  the  mind 
of  its  interminable  extent,  its  unbroken  level,  va 
ried  only  by  waving  grass,  and  coarse,  gorgeous 
flowers. 


Little  Willie  is  delighted  in  passing  from  one 
carriage  to  the  other,  and  taking  note  of  the  horses. 
He  fears  no  one,  and  is  welcome  every  where. 
He  will  make  an  excellent  settler  in  the  frank, 
free  West.  Nothing  subdues  him  but  the  period 
ical  home-sickness.  That  I  think  abates.  I 
hope  so,  for  I  know  not  how  I  should  bear  to 
hear  those  beloved  names  stirring,  in  wild  tones 
of  grief,  the  echoes  of  the  wilderness. 


In  traversing  the  prairie  we  occasionally  saw 
the  mirage,  so  alluring  and  so  deceptive.  Placid 
lakes,  with  pure,  glittering  waters,  fringed  by 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL.  267 

waving  and  woven  shades,  gleamed  in  the  dis 
tance,  but  fled  away  as  we  approached.  This 
visioned  beauty  so  attracted  us  that  it  was  diffi 
cult  to  believe  it  not  a  reality.  Sometimes,  like 
the  star-gazing  philosopher  of  old,  who  fell  into 
a  ditch  through  his  astrological  researches,  we 
were  not  always  aware  of  the  marshy  regions 
that  here  and  there  intersected  our  route. 

On  one  occasion,  while  Willie  was  enjoying  a 
pedestrian  excursion  in  Sandy's  arms,  he  pointed 
to  something  in  his  near  neighborhood  with  a 
lively  delight,  shouting, 

"  See!  see  !  pretty,  pretty  ribbon." 
Behold,  this  admired  ribbon  was  a  large, 
gliding  snake,  who,  with-  upraised  head,  regarded 
our  caravan.  It  is  said  they  are  quite  fond  of 
living  among  the  long  prairie  grass,  and  leave 
their  dens  and  caves  in  the  mountains  for  these 
lowland  abodes.  So  it  seems  that  even  here 
there  are  serpents  among  the  flowers.  I  should 
prefer  to  dispense  with  their  company,  not  hav 
ing  such  a  love  of  Natural  History  as  to  seek  ac 
quaintance  with  their  snakeships,  notwithstand 
ing  their  brilliance  of  color  and  costume,  in  which, 
perchance,  they  imitate  him  who  won  our  moth 
er's  ear  amid  the  shades  of  Eden. 


268  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL. 

We  occasionally  see  one  of  the  cone-roofed 
wigwams  of  the  Indians,  but  scarcely  any  marks 
of  their  being  inhabited.  I  have  always  felt  a 
great  interest  in  our  poor  aborigines.  A  few  of 
the  men  have  sauntered  listlessly  by  us  in  the 
course  of  the  day.  They  had  a  sulky  look,  and 
did  not  return  our  salutations.  The  guide  said 
that  the  remnants  of  the  neighboring  tribes  were 
at  variance,  and  had  recently  had  an  affray  which 
put  them  both  in  bad  humor.  As  evening  ap 
proached  we  passed  from  the  prairie  into  a  re 
gion  with  more  of  the  characteristics  of  a  forest. 
It  was  delightful  to  be  again  in  the  company  of 
the  protecting  trees.  The  road  was  sometimes 
obstructed  by  fallen  trunks  or  branches,  so  that 
traveling  was  slower  and  more  laborious,  and,  ere 
the  setting  sun  cast  his  last  golden  rays,  we  se 
lected  a  fitting  place  for  our  nightly  encampment. 
The  tired  horses  were  unharnessed  and  turned 
out  to  forage,  the  poles  planted,  and  the  tent 
pitched  with  great  celerity.  A  fire  was  kindled, 
tea  made,  a  comfortable  supper  partaken  of,  and 
a  bed  spread  in  our  greenwood  dormitory,  with 
proper  precautions  against  the  dampness  of  the 
earth.  Sandy  and  the  guide  were  to  act  as  sen 
tinels,  occasionally  taking  rest  in  the  wagon,  and 
Henry,  sometimes  in  the  tent  and  sometimes 
without,  took  superintendence  of  the  whole.  I 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  269 

perceived  that  each  one  put  his  gun  in  order.  As 
darkness  deepened,  they  replenished  the  fire  as  a 
protection  against  wild  Ibeasts,  for  we  had  seen 
now  and  then  the  red  eyes  of  the  panther  glaring 
down  upon  us  through  the  woven  branches. 


Oh,  the  solemn  grandeur  of  that  night  in  the  . 
forest !  Methought  it  was  God's  temple,  and  He 
visibly  near.  We,  poor  emmets  at  His  footstool, 
cast  out  from  the  fellowship  of  our  kind,  from  the 
pride  of  a  strong  shelter  with  bolts  and  bars,  were 
still  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand,  girt  about  with 
His  immutable  strength.  Through  the  dark, 
lofty  arches  of  interlacing  trees,  reddened  by  the 
fitful  flame,  it  might  almost  seem  that  there  were 
glancing  wings,  and  a  voice,  "He  giveth  his  an 
gels  charge  over  thee.  They  bear  thee  up  in 
their  hands,  lest  thou  dash  thy  foot  against  a 


Even  the  baby  seemed  to  drink  in  some  influ 
ences  from  the  sublimity  of  the  scene.  For  the 
first  time  at  night  since  leaving  our  distant  home, 
he  ceased  to  weep  and  mourn  after  its  loved  hab 
itants.  He  drew  near  to  me  with  his  gentlest 
caresses,  and  joined  his  face  to  mine,  so  still,  so 


270  LUCY  HWAED'S  JOURNAL. 

lovingly,  as  if  fearing  to  break  the  pause  by  a 
breath,  and  yet  full  of  happiness.  Were  God's 
thoughts  within  his  innocent  soul  ? 


The  watches  of  the  night  passed  slowly.  At 
length  I  had  fallen  asleep,  but  suddenly  awoke. 
There  was  a  sound  of  creeping  footsteps  around 
the  tent.  Henry  rushed  out,  and  I  knew  that  the 
guns  were  all  in  readiness.  Lifting  the  tent-cur 
tain,  I  exclaimed, 

"  Stay !  stay  your  hands !  I  hear  the  moan 
ing  of  a  child." 

At  that  moment  something  sprang  by  me 
through  the  aperture,  and,  falling  prone  on  the 
earth,  clasped  my  knees.  It  was  a  girl,  crying 
in  broken  English, 

"  Oh,  white  man,  don't  kill  poor  Orra!" 

Our  guide  suggested  that  such  decoys  were 
sometimes  used  by  the  natives,  who  were  of  late 
more  obnoxious  to  settlers  on  the  new  lands. 
Sandy,  shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "Nae 
doot  it's  a  trick  of  the  pizun  Injuns,"  would  have 
drawn  her  out  by  the  arm.  But  I  had  seen  by 
the  fitful  watch-fire  her  streaming  eyes  and  ago 
nized  features.  Oh,  creature  of  God,  of  my  own 
helpless  sex,  His  voice  speaks  through  thee. 

"  Husband,  husband,  will  you  let  me  keep  her?" 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL.  271 

"My  dearest  wife,  would  you  run  such  a  risk  ?" 

"  God  has  sent  her  to  us." 

"What  could  you  possibly  do  with  her?" 

"  I  will  find  room  for  the  poor  outcast.  Hen 
ry,  may  I  take  her  ?" 

He  consented.  I  spread  a  blanket,  and  mo 
tioned  for  her  to  lie  down.  But  she  continued 
crouched  on  the  ground,  and,  with  head  resting 
on  her  hajid,  steadfastly  regarded  me. 


With  the  first  gleams  of  morning  I  saw  that 
our  protegee  was  a  well-formed  girl  of  probably 
twelve  or  thirteen.  Her  long  black  hair  lay  in 
masses  upon  her  shoulders,  and  she  had  that  del 
icacy  of  hands  and  feet,  and  sweetness  of  tone, 
that  distinguish  the  females  of  our  aborigines. 
She  made  me  understand,  partly  by  pantomine 
and  partly  in  broken  words,  that  her  father  and 
mother  were  both  killed,  and  she  alone  had  fled 
away.  I  shall  never  forget  the  gratitude  with 
which  the  poor  famished  one  received  a  piece  of 
bread  and  decent  garments.  Wherever  I  went 
she  followed  me,  as  though  a  part  of  myself,  or 
as  if  she  believed  that  in  me  was  her  protection. 
When  I  looked  kindly  at  her,  a  loving  soul  seem 
ed  to  leap  out  through  her  eyes.  I  put  my  child 
into  her  arms,  and  her  rapture  knew  no  bounds. 


272  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

She  knelt  down  and  embraced  my  feet.  As  for 
him,  he  twined  at  once  his  little  waxen  arms 
around  her  neck,  and,  gazing  up  in  her  dark  face, 
said,  half  incredulously,  half  exultingly,  "Amy 
come  ?" 


Our  day's  journey,  though  a  weary  one,  was 
lightened  by  the  hope  that  it  was  the  last.  We 
were  enabled  frequently  to  walk,  which  relieved 
the  fatigue  of  a  constrained  position.  Willie's 
fondness  for  the  stranger,  and  her  tender  care  of 
him,  were  pleasant  features  of  our  progress.  The 
declining  sun  was  still  bright  in  the  heavens, 
when  Henry,  falling  on  his  knees  in  mock  hom 
age,  said,  "Hail,  my  lady  of  the  manor!  Wel 
come  to  your  own!"  for  he  had  entered  on  the 
bounds  of  his  estate. 


My  husband,  who  had  hastened  on  in  advance 
as  soon  as  the  blue  smoke  from  his  farm-house 
was  seen  curling  through  the  trees,  returned  with 
unelastic  step  and  a  fallen  countenance.  His 
own  domicile  was  far  from  being  in  the  condition 
which  he  had  ordered  and  expected.  Some  of 
his  letters  had  not  been  received  ;  for,  accustomed 
as  we  have  ever  been  to  regular  intercourse  through 


273 

mails,  we  had  not  fully  estimated  the  inconven 
ience  of  residing  at  a  distance  from  post-offices, 
and  other  causes  of  interrupted  intercourse.  His 
anticipated  pleasure  and  pride  in  our  triumphant 
installation  were  therefore  overthrown.  He  was, 
in  truth,  highly  exasperated,  and  the  more  so  that 
his  farmer,  with  the  ease  of  the  free,  Western 
character,  did  not  trouble  himself  to  make  elabo 
rate  excuses,  or  consider  it  a  matter  of  any  great 
import  if  a  few  animals  had  chanced  to  be  occu 
pants  before  us.  He  did,  indeed,  say  that  his 
wife  had  been  ill,  which  should  surely  be  admit 
ted  as  some  apology.  As  it  was,  I  cheered  Hen 
ry  by  telling  him  it  only  gave  an  opportunity  for 
Yankee  ingenuity  to  operate.  So,  in  a  trice,  the 
wagon-covering  was  fitted  as  a  temporary  carpet 
to  the  broken  floor,  a  blazing  fire  surmounted  by 
the  singing  kettle,  several  boxes  raised  and  cov 
ered  with  a  snowy  cloth,  on  whi^h  suddenly  ap 
peared  tea,  coffee,  and  other  edibles.  A  cup  of 
fresh  milk  from  a  beautiful  cow  within  the  in- 
closure  made  Willie  as  happy  as  a  king,  if  kings 
are  any  happier  than  other  people,  which,  as  a 
Republican,  I  doubt.  A  few  of  faithful  Amy's 
biscuits  and  ginger-cakes  were  discovered  lurk 
ing  in  a  secret  hoard,  and,  notwithstanding  un 
doubted  marks  of  antiquity,  were  easily  soluble 
in  a  cup  of  tea,  and  my  first  nourishment  in  my 
M2 


274  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

new  abode.  The  blessing  of  our  Almighty  and 
Merciful  Father  be  with  that  we  have  left  behind, 
and  this  to  which  He  has  led  us. 


I  am  reproved  for  what  I  fear  is  a  deficiency 
of  gratitude  by  the  perfect  delight  of  my  poor 
Indian  girl  for  the  shelter  of  a  roof  and  a  bed  to 
rest  upon.  We  have  found  a  little  cubby  for  her 
own,  which  she  occupies  with  thanks  and  ges 
tures  of  joy.  To  see  the  smile  that  lights  up 
her  dark  but  comely  countenance  as,  following 
me  like  my  shadow,  she  endeavors  to  aid  in  all 
that  I  do,  is  like  a  perpetual  sunbeam. 


We  supposed  that  we  had  bought  every  arti 
cle  essential  to  our  simple  mode  of  life,  as  far  as 
the  limits  of  two  carriages  would  suffice  for  freight. 
Yet,  what  should  we  happen  to  forget  ?  Hear  it 
with  horror,  all  ye  in  the  shape  of  housekeepers. 
A.  broom !  Yes,  that  indispensable  appendage 
of  all  notable  women.  What  was  to  be  done? 
Behold  the  Indian  ingenuity !  Orra,  of  her  own 
accord,  was  seen  dividing  thin  slips  of  whitewood 
into  narrow,  pliant  splinters,  which,  after  forming 
into  an  even  mass,  she  bound  firmly  around  a 
smooth  handle  prepared  for  her  by  Sandy,  having 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  275 

seen  this  work  done  by  the  women  of  her  tribe 
for  market  among  the  whites.  Even  the  Scotch 
man  pronounced  it  "cannie,"  and  seems  to  be 
laying  aside  some  of  his  prejudices  against  the 
"  evil  race  of  Injuns." 


My  dear  husband  is  overflowing  with  energy. 
He  is  up  with  the  lark,  never  weary,  and  seems 
attaining  a  degree  of  health  and  vigor  to  which 
he  was  before  a  stranger.  Taking  into  view  his 
classical  education,  and  subsequent  sedentary  life 
in  the  bank,  I  am  surprised  at  his  practical  knowl 
edge  of  agriculture,  and  the  wisdom  with  which 
he  apportions  to  different  purposes  his  extensive 
domain.  The  man  who  accompanied  us  on  our 
last  day's  journey  has  returned,  according  to 
promise,  with  three  other  assistants,  to  pursue 
for  a  short  time  the  farm-labor  on  a  large  scale, 
making  a  band  of  six  men,  of  which  Henry  is 
captain.  Such  pursuits  harmonize  with  his  na 
tive  tastes,  and  I  am  grateful  that  I  put  no  more 
obstacles  than  my  poor,  weak  heart  could  help  in 
the  way  of  his  physical  welfare  and  happiness. 


The  farmer's  wife,  who  has  quite  recovered,  is 
a  strong  woman,  and  ready  whenever  we  require 


276  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

her  aid.  In  our  small  home,  which  will  be  en 
larged  when  we  have  leisure,  the  spirit  of  order 
has  already  done  much.  The  sleeping  accommo 
dations  are  comfortably  arranged,  floors  mended, 
white  curtains  hung  at  each  window,  and  that  in 
my  own  apartment  is  already  clasped  by  the 
green  tendrils  and  fair  bells  of  a  morning-glory, 
whose  seeds  I  brought  from  my  own  dear,  far-off 
garden,  and  sprinkled  in  the  rich  mould  immedi 
ately  after  our  arrival. 


Time  is  sweeping  rapidly  on.  Constant  and 
varied  employment  leaves  no  room  for  loneliness, 
and  less  and  less  for  those  regrets  which,  at  first 
leaving  the  East,  I  feared  might  become  a  part 
of  my  being.  One  of  my  sources  of  daily  inter 
est  is  an  immense  flock  of  poultry,  whose  eggs 
and  chickens  are  important  additions  to  a  table 
which  can  be  supplied  by  no  regular  market. 
We  have  also  a  small  flock  of  sheep,  Sandy  be 
ing  conversant  with  the  charge  and  welfare  of 
both  these  races.  Willie  is  never  tired  of  feed 
ing  them,  of  calling  his  dog,  and  prattling  with 
his  prime  friend  Orra,  to  whose  name  he  perti 
naciously  adds  that  of  A.my.  She  proudly  at 
tends  his  excursions,  ministering  to  his  every 
want,  and  apparently  finding  her  great  capacity 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL.  277 

for  loving  satisfied  by  the  innocent  fondness  of 
the  fair  child. 


The  time  of  bare,  leafless  boughs  has  come, 
and  of  what  the  Scotch  call  the  "  sough"  of  the 
melancholy  winds.  Cold  weather  promises  to 
set  in  here  earlier  than  in  our  eastern  home.  My 
husband  is  now  hurried  with  preparations  for  it. 
A  large  piece  of  ground  at  some  distance  is  be 
ing  cleared  and  made  ready  for  the  sowing  of 
winter  wheat.  I  feel  something  like  indignation 
when  the  great  kings  of  the  forest  fall  from  their 
primeval  thrones  to  make  room  for  a  plebeian 
race  of  short-lived  roots  and  grasses. 


To-day,  in  the  absence  of  all  our  male  protect 
ors,  stealthy  footsteps  were  heard  around  the 
house.  At  length  the  heads  of  three  huge  In 
dians  were  discovered,  apparently  reconnoitring, 
but  strenuously  keeping  behind  the  covert  of  the 
trees.  Orra  was  in  an  agony.  Every  feature 
was  distorted  with  terror,  and  her  lips  bloodless. 
While  I  carefully  secured  every  mode  of  entrance, 
she  clasped  the  baby  with  a  death-like  grasp. 

"  Orra  can  fire  master's  gun,"  she  exclaimed, 
suddenly  dragging  it  forth,  examining  if  it  were 


278  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

loaded,  and  showing  how  she  could  poise  it  and 
take  aim,  having  had  the  training  of  a  hunter's 
daughter. 

They  drew  nearer,  a  gray-headed  man  and  two 
"braves,  as  they  are  called,  hideously  painted. 

"  Oh,  mistress,"  cried  the  girl,  "  they  kill,  kill! 
Orra  go  out.  Let  them  kill  Orra.  Then  mistress 
run — run  with  baby.  Oh  run — run  to  the  thick 
woods  and  hide.  Fly !  don't  stop !  they  are 
swifter  than  eagles." 

I  said,  "Pray  to  God  in  your  heart.  He  will 
be  near  us.  He  is  stronger  than  they." 

The  child  was  strangely  quiet.  He  caught  no 
terror  from  the  frantic  girl.  Came  there  into  his 
heart  the  spirit  of  that  brave  old  man  whose 
blood  is  in  his  veins  ?  or  spake  some  angel  unto 
him?  Still  was  he  as  a  statue,  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  mine. 

A  hand  shook  the  barricaded  door,  and  a  fierce 
red  face  glared  through  a  curtained  window. 
Suddenly  a  change  came  over  the  girl. 

"  Oh,  lady !  blessed  lady !  let  me  go  out  to 
them.  Let  me  go  ;  they  are  my  own  people." 

They  had  retired  to  a  little  distance,  and,  with 
the  swiftness  of  a  deer,  she  stood  among  them. 
She  spoke  with  strong  gestures  in  her  native 
language,  and  they  listened  as  if  transfixed. 
Then  the  gray-haired  one  took  her  by  the  hand 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  279 

and  moved  toward  the  house,  followed  by  the 
others.  Breaking  away,  and  preceding  them, 
her  unbound  tresses  flying  in  the  wind, 

"  Dear  mistress !  blessed  mistress !  it  is  my 
own  old  chief.  He  will  not  hurt  you.  May  he 
come  in  ?" 

Never  can  I  forget  the  expressive  countenance 
of  that  aged  man  as,  throwing  wide  my  door,  I 
welcomed  him,  and  drew  my  arm-chair  for  him. 
No  word ;  but  a  strong  soul  looked  through  the 
black,  glistening  eyes,  a  vanquished  purpose  of 
malevolence  melting  away  in  wonder. 

I  placed  food  before  him  as  a  token  of  peace. 
The  two  younger  ones,  exceedingly  athletic,  pow 
erful  men,  out  of  respect  to  their  ruler  would  not 
enter  and  partake  with  him.  Seated  outside  of 
the  door,  they  were  fed  and  served  by  Orra,  on 
whom  they  incessantly  smiled.  She,  in  a  passion 
of  joy,  was  their  interpreter.  They  had  discover 
ed  that  this  orphan  of  their  tribe  was  under  our 
roof.  With  their  national  prejudice  against  the 
whites,  they  had  supposed  her  held  in  tyrannical 
captivity ;  therefore  they  had  come  to  her  rescue, 
and,  if  need  were,  to  burn,  and  ravage,  and  de 
stroy.  Other  warriors,  stationed  in  an  adjoining 
wood,  awaited  the  signal  to  come  on  and  do  the 
bidding  of  their  leader.  But  her  few  words  of 
love  had  changed  the  lion  to  the  lamb.  They 


280  LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUIINAL. 

had  believed  the  pale  faces  always  their  foes,  or, 
what  to  a  proud  nature  is  still  more  bitter,  hold 
ing  them  in  contempt.  A  new  set  of  ideas  seem 
ed  to  have  interposed.  Orra  said  they  united  in 
giving  me  a  new  name,  the  "good  white  woman." 

The  repast  ended,  the  old  chieftain  rose  to  de 
part.  His  lofty  head  almost  touched  our  hum 
ble  ceiling.  Bowing  low,  he  gave  me  thanks  in 
his  own  tongue.  Then  he  reached  his  hands  for 
the  child.  A  mother's  misgiving,  with  horrid  im 
agery  of  kidnapped  and  tomahawked  babes,  swept 
for  a  moment  over  me ;  but  Willie,  to  whom  a 
dark  face  seems  a  letter  of  recommendation,  set 
tled  the  matter  by  determining  to  go  to  this  tall 
old  lord  of  the  forest,  pleased  with  his  nodding 
plumes,  like  Ascanius  in  the  arms  of  Hector. 
Eaising  him  high  above  his  head,  he  uttered,  in 
deep  intonation  and  in  a  devout  manner,  a  form 
of  words,  and  restored  him  to  my  bosom.  Orra 
said  with  delight, 

"  He  blesses  him  in  the  name  of  the  Great 
Spirit ;  he  makes  him  his  young  white  chief;  he 
says  because  of  you  there  shall  be  peace  between 
us  as  long  as  the  stars  shine  and  the  waters  flow." 


Scarcely  had  we  recovered  from  the  excitement 
of  this  scene  when  Henry  returned  with  his  farm- 


LUCY  HOWAED'S  JOUENAL.  281 

er  and  Sandy.  His  first  impulse  was  to  pur 
sue  the  men  who  had  trespassed  on  his  grounds 
with  a  belligerent  purpose ;  but,  after  due  expla 
nations,  he  was  content  to  remain.  He  makes 
himself  merry  with  my  oathless  treaty,  and  doubts 
whether  it  will  remain  in  force  as  long  as  that  of 
William  Penn,  ratified  under  the  sacred  oak  at 
Kensington.  He  says  my  enthusiasm  for  the 
aborigines,  which  has  been  with  him  a  matter  of 
ridicule,  will  now  intrench  itself  anew  since  my 
son  is  installed  a  chieftain.  Yet  the  prevailing 
sentiment  in  our  souls  is  praise  to  Him  who 
averted  a  danger  that  might  have  left  our  happy 
home  a  smouldering  ruin  of  desolation  and  blood. 
May  the  lives  thus  spared  be  more  perfectly  de 
voted  to  the  Giver  of  all  our  mercies. 


Letters  from  our  first  far-off  home  are  now 
necessarily  like  angel  visits,  "few  and  far  be 
tween."  Every  parcel  is  opened  with  a  tremu 
lous  hand.  Still,  they  have  all  continued  to  speak 
the  sweet  language  of  health  and  happiness. 
Good  news,  and  cheerful  words  of  themselves 
and  to  us,  come  from  dear  mother,  and  Mary 
Ann  and  Edgar,  her  blessings,  who  do  all  in 
their  power  for  her  comfort  and  that  of  the  be 
loved  grandfather.  Her  last  epistle  had  a  post- 


282  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUKNAL. 

script  from  his  own  hand,  Ibearing,  amid  all  his 
feebleness,  traces  of  that  clear,  bold,  elegant  pen 
manship  by  which  in  earlier  years  he  was  dis 
tinguished. 

"When  you  drove  away  from  our  door  (it 
says),  I  thought  you  and  the  child  the  most 
beautiful  objects  that  my  eyes  ever  beheld.  You 
drove  away,  and  I  shall  never  see  you  more  in 
this  life.  Your  husband  says  he  will  bring  you 
to  visit  us.  But  I  shall  not  be  here.  '  Ye  shall 
seek  me  in  the  morning,  but  I  shall  not  be.' 

"Yet  when  I  meet  you  among  the  angels  of 
God,  I  shall  know  you  by  that  same  smile  of 
love  and  grief  which  was  on  your  brow  when  you 
said  farewell.  The  grief  will  have  faded,  but  the 
love  will  be  there  forever.  By  that  shall  I  know 
you.  So  give  diligence,  that  we  may  meet  no 
more  to  part  in  the  mansions  the  Savior  hath  pre 
pared  for  those  who  are  faithful  unto  death." 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  283 


Monday,  January  1st,  1821. 

Almighty  Creator,  who  never  forgettest  those 
whom  Thou  hast  made ;  compassionate  Savior, 
who  for  our  sakes  wert  content  to  be  crucified ; 
Spirit  of  light  and  power,  prompter  of  right 
thoughts  in  hearts  unholy,  accept  the  consecra 
tion  that  I  make  of  the  whole  frame  of  my  na 
ture,  this  mortal  body,  this  living  mind,  this  un 
dying  soul — the  babe,  dearer  than  all — deign  to 
accept  the  unreserved  offering.  Endue  what  is 
thus  yielded  with  new  strength  for  thy  continued 
service.  Let  life  mingle  with  every  duty — such 
life  as  the  heart  gives  when  it  flows  out  and 
quickens  the  deed. 

Suffer  us — my  soul's  companion  and  myself — 
to  cherish  no  undue  expectations  or  anxieties  for 
aught  that  hath  root  in  earth.  Placed  here  to 
do  Thy  will,  to  strive  to  conform  ourselves  to 
Thine  image,  let  us  not  swerve  from  the  true 
heavenward  path.  Teach  us  so  to  number  our 
days  as  to  apply  our  hearts  unto  wisdom ;  so  to 
see  and  revere  Thee  in  all  things,  in  every  pass 
ing  event,  in  every  fleeting  enjoyment,  that  the 
year  on  which  this  first  cloudless  morning  breaks 
may  be  a  blessed  waymark  amid  the  memories 
of  heaven. 


284  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

To  have  but  few  books  is  an  advantage.  They 
are  better  prized,  more  thoroughly  read,  more  fre 
quently  meditated  upon  and  talked  about,  so  that 
their  contents  are  more  likely  to  be  appropriated 
or  their  wise  suggestions  adopted.  What  we 
considered  a  privation,  because  we  could  bring 
with  us  but  a  small  selection,  may  therefore 
prove  a  gain.  From  the  luxury  of  periodical  lit 
erature  we  are  indeed  excluded ;  but  important 
intelligence  reaches  us  after  a  while,  and  the  habit 
of  much  miscellaneous  reading,  though  it  may  en 
tertain,  does  not  strengthen  or  discipline  the  mind. 
Whoever  reads  without  the  intention  of  remem 
bering — indeed,  what  it  is  impossible  to  remember 
and  logically  arrange,  will  find  his  retentive  pow 
er  growing  inert,  as  masses  of  ill-assorted  food 
impair  digestion. 


How  the  magic  of  correspondence  softens  the 
pain  of  separation.  Every  package  of  letters  from 
the  East  brings  the  loved  circle  around  us.  Riv 
ers  and  mountains  no  longer  divide  us.  We  sit 
among  them  and  hear  their  voices.  We  speak 
and  are  answered.  Our  habit  of  writing  a  little 
every  day  of  whatever  occurs,  and  sending  the 
sheets  when  they  are  filled,  gives  much  of  the 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 


freshness  of  living  intercourse,  and  an  indwelling 
with  each  other,  as  though  we  led  our  existence 
in  two  places.  Is  not  this  sort  of  double  life  a 
gain  ?  a  multiplication  of  sympathies  ?  Contin 
ually  I  bless  my  dear  Father  in  Heaven  for  His 
protecting  care  of  our  earliest  home,  and  that  His 
mantle  over  all  its  inmates  is  love. 


Is  there  any  thing  like  the  ringing  laugh  of  an 
innocent,  happy  child  ?  Can  any  other  music  so 
echo  through  the  heart's  inner  chambers  ?  It  is 
sympathetic,  too,  beyond  other  melodies.  When 
the  father  sits  absorbed  over  his  book,  which 
seems  to  concentrate  every  faculty,  he  hears  little 
Willie  laughing  in  his  sports,  and  laughs  also, 
he  knows  not  wherefore.  The  bright  being,  con 
tinually  gathering  intelligence,  casts  around  us 
gems  of  thought  and  pearls  of  affection,  till  our 
paths  seem  paved  with  precious  stones  from  heav 
en's  treasury.  No  day  of  storms  is  dark  where 
he  is,  no  wintry  evening  long.  We  had  neither 
of  us  fully  realized  what  a  full  fountain  of  delight 
a  young  child  is  to  the  house  and  heart  until  sep 
arated  as  we  have  been  this  winter  from  accus 
tomed  and  extraneous  sources  of  enjoyment. 


286  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL. 

Why  do  we  not  think  and  speak  more  frequent 
ly  of  the  invisible  company  around  us  ?  Are  we 
not  assured  that,  hovering  over  us,  they  take 
charge  of  us  in  all  our  ways  ?  that  they  bear  us 
up  in  their  hands,  lest  we  dash  our  foot  against 
a  stone?  Stood  they  not  by  my  dear  Lord, 
strengthening  him  amid  the  horrors  of  Gethsem- 
ane?  Shall  we  not  strive  to  be  in  unison  with 
that  heavenly  host  who  watch  for  our  good,  with 
"only  this  veil  of  flesh  between?"  Shall  no 
strain  of  gratitude  flow  forth  to  them  for  all  their 
ministry  of  patience  ? 


We  often  speak  to  each  other  of  that  night 
when  we  pitched  our  tent  in  the  wilderness.  The 
strange,  stirring  events  that  marked  it  broke  up 
for  the  time  its  impression  of  sublimity ;  but  it 
has  since  returned  to  us  like  the  imagery  of  a 
grand,  solemn  picture.  The  primeval  forest, 
touching  the  black  sky ;  the  white,  speck-like 
tent,  nestled  at  its  feet ;  the  red  watch-fire,  with 
its  glimmering  shadows ;  the  gliding  forms  that 
fed  it  with  fresh  fuel,  or  stood  as  armed  sentinels 
at  our  postern.  Once  the  great  moon  looked 
through  a  torn  cloud,  as  though  she  said,  "  What 
do  ye  here  ?"  and  hid  herself.  The  life  that  was 
around  us  seemed  strange  and  unfriendly.  The 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  287 

cry  of  the  boding  owl,  the  bay  of  the  prowling 
wolf,  and  now  and  then  a  mysterious  sound — was 
it  the  blast  smiting  the  gnarled  branches,  or  the 
distant  whoop  of  the  blood-seeking  Indian  ?  Yet 
there  we  stretched  ourselves  to  sleep  and  rose  up 
unharmed.  We  were  girded  with  needful  cour 
age,  and  God  was  near. 


Orra,  our  dark-browed  child,  is  exceedingly 
useful.  I  scarcely  see  how  we  could  have  done 
without  this  gift  of  the  forest,  or,  rather,  of  Him 
who  planted  the  forest.  She  learns  readily,  and 
promises  to  become  expert  with  the  needle.  She 
is  desirous  of  being  able  to  read,  and  her  instruc 
tion  keeps  up  the  pleasant  old  habits  of  teaching. 
Her  overwhelming  love  of  the  child,  and  his  reci 
procity,  with  the  gratitude  for  her  home  which 
she  continually  evinces,  gives  her  a  place  in  my 
affection,  and  in  that  of  the  whole  family. 


It  is  amusing  to  see  with  what  miserable  ac 
commodations  some  of  the  surrounding  inhabi 
tants  are  satisfied.  Almost  like  a  mushroom  the 
log-house  rises.  The  growing  tree  of  to-day  may 
find  itself  to-morrow  part  and  parcel  of  the  roof 
that  shelters  a  family,  a  fixture  in  the  wall  where 


288  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

the  board  is  spread  and  the  cradle  rocks,  or  ham 
mered  into  the  shrine  of  the  Lares  and  Penates. 
With  the  Eastern  people,  however  poor,  there  is 
a  laborious  effort  to  add  to  their  internal  com 
forts.  Compelled  to  bring  but  few  with  them, 
they  never  rest  until  they  have  obtained  more,  or 
conformed  in  some  measure  to  the  habitudes  of 
early  life ;  but  the  native  dwellers  are  content. 
They  are  satisfied  to  take  their  food  from  maple 
blocks,  or  to  sit  at  the  table  on  stumps  of  bass- 
wood.  Free  and  easy  are  they ;  and  if  any  im 
provement  is  suggested,  they  say,  "  This  way 
will  do  a  while.  I  reckon  we'll  try  it  a  section" 
Great  are  they  at  borrowing.  Orra  sometimes 
brings  their  requests  with  amazement. 

"  Will  mistress  lend  her  rolling-pin,  her  chop- 
ping-tray,  her  tea-kettle  ?" 

A  large  woman  came  this  morning  for  a  wash- 
tub,  which  she  took  upon  her  head  as  if  it  were 
an  egg-shell;  but,  suddenly  returning,  said, 

"  I  forgot  to  borrie  some  knives  and  forks,  and 
a  platter  big  enough  to  hold  the  meat  and  saase 
too,  cause  we  expect  a  stranger-man  to  dinner." 
"With  as  much  readiness  as  they  request  will 
they  oblige.  The  simplicity  of  their  colonial  life 
induces  a  fellow-feeling  not  known  where  the  cer 
emonious  and  artificial  prevail.  Still,  civilization 
and  refinement  make  advances,  and  progress,  in 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  289 

many  respects,  comes  onward  with'such  a  whelm 
ing  tide  that  these  regions  can  not  long  be  called 
young  or  new.  What  is  entirely  essential  to  the 
women  who  emigrate  hither  is  a  spirit  of  bravery 
and  cheerfulness.  The  burden  of  the  childrens' 
quaint  old  song  would  be  a  fitting  motto  for  them, 
"  Come  with  a  good-will  or  not  at  all."  Come 
with  a  determination  to  bear  up  boldly,  to  de 
spise  trifles,  to  take  part  in  every  duty  with  a 
smiling  face,  and,  when  things  do  not  go  to  your 
mind,  see  if  you  can  not  find  a  bright  side,  or 
"some  soul  of  goodness  in  them,"  and  all  will 
go  well  enough. 


I  have  found  a  new,  great  pleasure  —  riding 
on  horseback  with  my  baby.  I  can  do  it  now 
quite  well,  though  it  required  a  little  practice  to 
keep  him  steadily  balanced  and  feel  at  ease  my 
self.  He  is  never  so  gayly  happy  as  on  these  ex 
cursions.  He  pats  the  horse's  neck  and  kisses 
his  white  nose  ere  we  mount.  Then  his  bright 
eyes  look  on  every  object  so  inquiringly  as  we 
pass  along,  and  his  clear  tones  weave  themselves 
into  music.  He  seems  as  a  brother  to  the  birds 
and  the  springing  flowers.  For  my  own  part,  I 
was  never  half  as  happy  in  the  most  luxurious 
coach.  Oli  no !  Methinks  the  noble  steed  that 
N 


290  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL. 

bears  us  onward  has  almost  human  intelligence. 
The  slightest  expression  of  my  will  controls  him, 
and  he  seems  to  take  part  in  our  satisfactions. 
Where  wheels  are  unable  to  pass  we  career  safe 
ly,  with  an  exulting  consciousness  of  strength 
and  power.  We  make  friendship  with  the  trees 
that  overshadow  us,  through  whose  parted  boughs 
we  see  the  blue,  arching  skies,  and  the  fleecy 
clouds,  like  a  great  unfolded  flock,  following  the 
crook  of  their  shepherd.  The  fresh  breeze  that 
uplifts  us  is  but  another  name  for  health,  and  the 
untamed  earth  speaks  of  Him  who  made  it.  Who 
calls  it  solitude  ?  More  fully  peopled  is  it  than 
the  haunts  of  fashion.  There,  the  heart,  among 
crowds,  might  feel  alone ;  but  not  here,  with  the 
happy  young  soul  that  is  a  part  of  your  own, 
and  in  the  great,  glorious  temple  of  the  beneficent 
Father  of  the  soul. 


In  one  of  our  equestrian  excursions — Willie 
and  I — we  overtook  a  lady  who  removed  hither 
from  the  South,  and  resides  within  a  few  miles  of 
our  habitation.  Every  body  here  knows  every 
body ;  so  I  told  her  my  name  and  my  baby's,  and 
we  were  as  sociable  as  new  settlers  always  are. 
In  every  community  where  mutual  needs  keep  the 
tide  of  sympathy  open,  useless  ceremony  is  thrown 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOUKNAL.  291 

overboard.  She  had  been  brought  up  amid  re 
finement  and  luxury,  but  conforms  herself  to  their 
absence  with  an  unbroken  spirit  and  a  gayety  that 
borders  on  wit.  She  said  that,  for  a  long  time 
after  their  arrival,  her  very  small  house,  with  the 
exception  of  two  rooms,  had  no  flooring  save  of , 
earth.  The  walls  had  no  plastering,  and  over 
head  were  the  open  rafters.  Being  at  a  great 
distance  from  carpenters,  they  were  for  months 
without  even  an  outer  door.  A  counterpane  hung 
up  was  their  only  barrier,  and  the  mode  of  form 
ing  partitions  between  the  apartments. 

One  night,  while  her  husband  was  from  home, 
she  was  kept  waking  by  an  unfamiliar  sound. 

"What  is  that?"  said  she  to  his  sister,  who 
had  been  longer  a  dweller  in  this  newly-settled 
region. 

"  What's  what  ?  I  don't  hear  any  thing,"  she 
replied,  slowly  waking  from  a  deep  slumber, 

"  There  is  something.  Listen !  listen !  It  is 
like  the  barking  of  a  hoarse  dog,  and  yet  not 
quite  like  it." 

Whereupon  she  imitated,  as  well  as  she  was 
able,  a  growling,  suffocating  sound,  and  the  sis 
ter,  quietly  turning  to  sleep  again,  answered, 

"  Oh,  thafs  nothing  but  wolves." 

Nothing  but  wolves,  indeed !  and  no  fastening 
to  the  fold.  Who  knows  but  what,  in  default 


292  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

of  lambs  or  chickens,  they  might  make  a  meal 
of  the  human  inmates  ?  * 

"At  length,"  said  the  lively  lady,  "winter 
drew  on,  and  it  was  right  cold.  I  was  told  that 
we  should  have  our  outside  door  by  Christmas. 
The  day  before  Christmas  came,  but  no  front 
door.  My  husband  was  absent,  and  the  carpen 
ter  lived  several  miles  from  us.  I  saw  no  way 
but  to  go  and  stir  up  his  memory.  The  snow 
was  deep,  and  I  mounted  an  ox-sled  and  arrived 
at  his  premises.  It  was  not  finished,  but  I  told 
him  it  must  be,  and  should  not  go  until  it  was ; 
then  he  worked  right  smart,  and  I  helped  him  to 
drive  some  of  the  nails.  Before  dark  I  reached 
home,  riding  upon  my  front  door ;  and  I  never 
had  a  pleasanter  Christmas  gift  in  my  life,"  said 
she,  with  a  ringing  laugh,  as  she  parted  from  us 
and  cantered  away  on  her  homeward  path  through 
the  forest. 


It  was  longer  than  usual  since  Willie  had  been 
out  on  his  favorite  horse.  Seeing  him  pass  the 
window,  he  so  earnestly  besought  in  his  sweet 
way,  "Please,  ok  please,  dear  mamma"  that  I 
could  not  but  indulge  him.  Noticing  every  pass 
ing  object,  the  playful  lamb  or  the  leaping  squir 
rel,  he  prattled  in  his  own  broken  way  to  his 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  293 

heart's  content,  and  then  relapsed  into  a  quiet 
reverie,  varied  by  that  tuneful,  monotonous  mur 
mur,  the  precursor  of  slumber.  On  our  return 
we  were  overtaken  by  quite  a  heavy  shower. 
Drawing  up  under  the  thick  boughs  of  a  lofty 
ash,  and  throwing  over  our  heads  an  extra  shawl, 
which  I  carried  at  my  saddle-bow,  we  were  com 
fortably  sheltered,  and  enjoyed  the  scene.  The 
child  was  pleased  with  our  temporary  umbrella, 
and  with  the  patter  of  the  falling  drops,  whose 
superflux  the  higher  leaves  shed  down  upon  the 
lower  with  a  quivering  pleasure,  as  if  they  had 
discovered  what  man  was  divinely  taught,  that 
"it  is  more  blessed  to  give  than  to  receive." 

Then  came  a  rich  red  bird,  and  sat  upon  a 
dancing  spray,  and  poured  forth  the  melody  that 
thrills  those  winged  hearts  after  a  fresh  vernal 
rain.  Willie  was  delighted,  and,  while  clapping 
his  little  white  hands  and  gazing  upward,  he  es 
pied,  through  an  opening  in  the  thicket,  the  arch 
of  a  glorious  rainbow.  The  rapture  that  had 
kindled  his  blue  eye  suddenly  was  mingled  with 
awe  as  he  whispered, 

"  God's  picture,  mamma — God's  greatie  pic 
ture" 

Would  that  some  limner  or  sculptor  might 
have  caught  the  expression  on  that  innocent  face. 
The  holy  delight  of  the  upraised  eye  was  sub- 


294  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

lime.  Methought  He  who  had  made  that  bow 
the  promise  of  hope  to  a  drowning  world  was 
touching  with  its  penciled  rays  the  admiring 
new-born  soul;  and  the  mother's  bowed  heart 
said  to  itself,  "  Behold !  thou  hast  nurtured  an 
angel,  and  knew  it  not." 


Poor  little  Willie !  Poor  little  Willie !  I  could 
better  have  borne  to  yield  him  back  whence  he 
came  than  to  see  him  suffer.  Might  it  but  have 
pleased  his  Heavenly  Father  to  have  taken  his 
own,  like  some  transplanted  flower,  that  I  need 
not  have  looked  upon  the  struggle  with  the  De 
stroyer,  and  the  ghastly  white  settling  over  those 
cheeks  of  rose. 

Short  and  sharp  was  the  way,  dear  lamb,  to 
thy  Shepherd  and  the  fold  of  rest. 


Fearfully  rapid  are  these  Western  bilious  dis 
eases.  In  perfect  health,  in  the  midst  of  his 
plays,  he  was  smitten.  The  remedies  which  we 
brought  with  us,  which  had  always  been  success 
ful  in  similar  attacks,  utterly  failed.  The  near 
est  physician  was  at  the  last  township  where  we 
paused  on  our  journey.  The  distance,  which 
then  occupied  two  days,  was  quickly  surmounted 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  295 

by  Sandy  riding  at  full  speed,  and  not  staying 
for  darkness.  In  the  same  manner  they  returned. 
The  first  glance  of  the  medical  man  was  as  a  sen 
tence  of  death.  He  approved  every  measure  that 
had  been  pursued,  but  added,  "There  is  nothing 
more  to  be  done.'1 


"Nothing  to  be  done  /"    Indeed,  there  is  much 
to  be  done.     To  lay  him  in  the  arms  of  the  Great  \ 
Being  that  reclaimeth  him  with  undoubting  trust.  \ 
Not  without  tears.     That  he  requireth  not.     He 
knoweth  that  we  are  but  dust ;  yet,  having  said 
in  our  prayers  from  the  beginning  that  our  babe 
was  a  lent  treasure,  having  signed  him  with  the 
baptismal  water  as  belonging  unto  God,  why  are 
we  so  little  prepared  to  take  this  cup  that  He 
giveth,  and  drink  it  in  peace  ? 


Can  the  last  scene  ever  fade  from  my  heart  ? 
When  light  at  noonday  began  to  forsake  his  eyes, 
he  said  in  loud,  clear  tones, 

"  Orra,  Amy,  bring  a  candle." 

Supposing  himself  going  to  his  nightly  rest,  he 
began  his  accustomed  prayer, 

"Our  Father,  who  art — "  But  breath  failed 
him. 


296  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Kecovering  himself  after  a  while,  he  murmured, 

"  Good-night,  mamma." 

Then  there  was  a  struggle  and  convulsion. 
Life  kept  strong  hold  of  the  beautiful  clay.  He 
gasped,  with  sorrow  on  his  sweet  brow, 

"Don't  cry,  dear  papa." 

His  lips  turned  ashy  pale.  We  thought  them 
sealed  forever;  but  from  the  deep  slumber  he 
opened  widely  once  more  those  large  blue  eyes, 
whispering  his  cradle  epithet, 

"  Come,  greatie-papa." 

An  ineffable  brightness  passed  over  his  face,  a 
blessed  smile  settled  there,  and  the  babe  of  two 
summers  was  at  rest  with  God. 


Thy  funeral,  my  own  darling,  nurtured  at  my 
bosom.     Thy  funeral !    And  still  I  live. 


We  have  chosen  Willie's  grave  where  he  best 
loved  to  play,  an  expanse  of  smooth,  rich  turf, 
overshadowed  by  lofty  trees.  It  is  in  sight  of 
my  own  window,  just  where  he  gathered  the  first 
grass  and  buds  of  the  season,  and  brought  them, 
a  simple  offering,  to  his  mother.  Would  that  she 
_jnight,  with  the  same  confiding  love,  lay  her  stain 
less  blossom  upon  the  altar. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  297 

It  was  near  the  sunset  of  a  cloudless  day  when 
our  small  procession  wound  its  way  from  the  vine- 
clad  porch  to  the  open  grave.  Faithful  Sandy, 
suffused  with  tears,  bore  the  body  in  its  little 
coffin,  white  buds  in  the  fair  hands,  white  buds 
on  the  pure  brow  and  bosom.  -  Following  the 
parents  was  poor  Orra,  the  farmer  and  his  wife, 
and  two  families  recently  removed  to  this  region, 
who  joined  us  in  this  our  affliction. 

Coming  forward  to  the  brink  of  the  pit,  the 
beautiful  face  uncovered  at  his  feet,  the  father 
read  the  sublime  burial  service  of  the  Church  of 
England.  How  holy  was  every  word.  How 
touching  the  inflections  of  that  voice,  striving  to 
quell  the  tide  of  parental  anguish,  and  reach  the 
majestic  devotion  of  one  called  for  the  time  to  act 
as  a  priest  of  God.  A  strength  not  his  own  up 
held  him  until  the  close.  At  the  last  words  his 
voice  faltered,  and,  falling  on  his  knees  by  my 
side,  he  covered  his  face  with  his  hands  till  the 
last  work  was  over.  Orra,  who  had  stood  mo 
tionless  as  a  statue,  listening  to  the  blessed  words 
of  the  resurrection  and  the  life,  threw  herself  on 
the  finished  mound  with  wild,  passionate  cries, 
and  long  refused  to  leave  it. 


N2 


298  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Oh,  let  us  gather  up  the  blessings  that  spring 
from  the  grave  of  our  child,  that  our  hearts  perish 
not.  It  was  a  blessing  to  have  had  him  with  us 
so  long,  a  type  of  what  angels  are.  Was  not  his 
an  angel's  ministry  to  us  all,  calling  forth  our 
best  affections  —  our  most  hallowed  services? 
"  Burned  not  our  hearts  within  us  while  he  talk 
ed  with  us  by  the  way?" 

It  was  a  blessing  to  have  enjoyed  the  comfort 
of  loving  him — to  have  been  able  to  love  him  so 
much.  Should  we  regret  that  we  loved  him  as 
our  own  lives  ?  Would  that  I  had  been  able  to 
have  loved  him  more.  He  was  worthy  of  it ;  he 
came  from  God  to  teach  us  this  new,  great  love ; 
he  has  gone  back  to  the  land  of  perfect  love. 

Is  it  not  a  blessing  that  he  has  gone  thither 
ere  the  world  had  changed  his  innocent  joy  and 
bowed  his  soul  to  sin  ?  Ere  the  battle  was  fought, 
in  which  he  might  have  fallen,  the  victory  has 
been  given  him.  "  Thanks  be  unto  God  for  His 
unspeakable  gift." 


I  constrain  my  own  grief  lest  it  should  increase 
that  of  my  husband.  I  had  no  idea  before  what 
the  mourning  of  a  strong  man  might  be.  Some 
times  the  tide  of  anguish  swells  so  high  that  I 
have  feared  it  might  sweep  reason  away.  Through 


299 

the  day  he  pursues  his  necessary  avocations  and 
directs  his  men,  though  without  his  former  in 
terest  ;  but  his  nightly  weepings  are  as  one  cast 
out  of  God. 


My  poor  husband  gets  but  little  quiet  sleep. 
I  watch  for  the  deep  breathing  that  announces  it, 
as  I  used  of  old  to  listen  for  the  music-strain. 
Last  night  it  fell  gently  on  my  ear,  and  I  blessed 
our  Father  in  heaven ;  but  at  the  rayless  mid 
night  he  started  as  from  a  terrific  dream,  exclaim 
ing* 

"  I  am  a  sinner  above  all  men.  Pride  and  the 
spirit  of  accumulation  ruled  my  heart.  I  called 
it  a  father's  prudence.  It  was  not  so.  Now  my 
idol  is  broken  in  the  grave,  and  my  heart  with  it." 

I  tried  to  vindicate  the  integrity  of  his  motives, 
and  spoke  of  God's  great  goodness  to  us,  and  to 
our  child  who  had  gone  to  Him. 

"Let  me  speak  out.  Let  me  tell  the  whole 
truth.  Promising  solemnly,  to  protect  and  cher 
ish  you,  I  have  torn  you  from  the  paradise  where 
you  were  so  happy,  from  refined  society,  from 
hearts  that  are  now  bursting  for  your  loss.  I 
have  brought  you  to  a  waste,  howling  wilderness, 
to  a  land  uninhabited,  and  hardened  with  labor 
those  beautiful  hands  that  were  a  model  for  the 


300  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

sculptor.  All  this  I  have  done  to  make  my  son 
richer  than  others  when  I  should  pass  away.  I 
have  sacrificed  you  to  my  own  unhallowed  ambi 
tion  ;  yet  you  have  never  reproached  me,  no,  not 
by  a  look.  If  you  had,  perhaps  this  self-loath 
ing  might  be  less  deep." 

To  my  repeated  assurance  that  I  would  go  with 
him  to  the  world's  end,  and  be  happy  if  I  might 
but  see  him  so — that  what  he  calls  privation  is 
counted  as  nothing  by  a  love  stronger  than  death, 
he  replies,  in  the  same  mournful  voice, 

"Always  looking  on  the  bright  side,  my  own 
love — always,  like  the  angel  standing  in  the  sun, 
having  no  shadow  of  earth.  But  I  seem  to  have 
given  my  hand  to  the  powers  of  darkness." 

Then  he  goes  on,  speaking  of  every  folly  ot 
his  past  life,  which  he  calls  before  him  in  full 
array,  magnifying  them,  and  making  himself  as 
blamable  as  possible.  He  seems  to  find  relief 
in  this  self-crimination.  It  is  in  vain  to  attempt 
to  stay  its  tide.  The  Everlasting  Father,  whose 
mercies  are  over  all  His  works,  sanctify  this  ago 
nizing  compunction,  which  He  alone  is  able  to 
take  away. 


Among   men,  Henry  is,  as   formerly,  a   man 
clear-minded  and  of  a  ruling  spirit.     But  when 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  301 

we  are  by  ourselves,  and  the  excitements  of  the 
day  are  over,  his  voice  is  so  ineffably  mournful 
when  he  laments  our  lost  son  and  his  own  un- 
worthiness. 

Great  Ruler  of  our  being,  deign  from  this  ray- 
less  darkness  to  bring  forth  my  beloved  into  Thy 
marvelous  light.  My  whole  life  is  a  prayer  for 
this. 


That    little    billow    upon    the    green    sward ! 
White  blossoms  begin  to  crest  it.    I  see  it  when 
I  rise  in  the  morning.     The  moon  silvers  it  with 
long  penciled  rays.     My  child  1   my  child  I 
"He  is  not  there — lie  has  arisen." 


After  anguish  that  seemed  interminable,  a 
blessed  change  has  passed  over  my  adored  hus 
band.  Nojonger  he  repines  at  the  Divine  allot 
ments,  No  longer  lie,  calls  himself  of  all  men 
most  miserable.  A  serene  peace  is  in  his  soul 
and  upon  his  brow.  Meekly  he  rejoices  in  those 
daily  blessings  which  for  a  time  he  had  lost  the 
power  to  recognize.  Night  and  morning  he  sum 
mons  his  whole  household  to  the  heartfelt  orison. 
At  every  repast  he  bows  his  head  for  a  blessing. 
Continually  he  now  seeks  th.e  spiritual  as  well  as 


302  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

temporal  good  of  those  around.  This  is  the  Lord's 
doing ;  it  is  marvelous  in  our  eyes.  I  would  be 
still,  as  one  who  had  seen  Him  walking  among 
the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  sending  down  his  white- 
winged  messengers  with  the  gift  of  salvation. 


The  settlement  is  enlarging  itself  beyond  our 
most  sanguine  hopes.  Here  and  there,  some 
times  in  spots  where  they  might  have  been  least 
expected,  rises  the  roof  of  the  emigrant.  Vol 
umes  of  blue,  curling  smoke  mingle  gracefully 
with  the  solemn  groves.  I  am  amazed  at  the 
mushroom  vitality  with  which  they  spring  up 
and  finish  themselves.  In  less  time  than  is  al 
lotted  to  the  digging  of  a  Yankee  cellar,  wTalls 
are  upreared,  floors  laid,  children's  heads  peep 
out  at  the  windows,  and  the  bee-hive  work  of 
busy  life  goes  on.  It  is  true,  they  do  not,  as  the 
Scotch  say,  "  fash  themselves"  with  much  deco 
ration  or  any  great  array  of  what  we  call  crea 
ture  comforts,  but  all  the  purposes  of  hardy, 
healthful  existence  seem  accomplished.  In  due 
time  there  will  doubtless  be  progress  in  what  is 
more  refined.  "First  the  blade,  then  the  ear, 
then  the  ripe  corn  in  the  ear." 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUKNAL.  303 

My  husband  has  solaced  himself  by  erecting1 
a  little  chapel.  He  felt  that  our  increasing  pop 
ulation  should  not  be  without  a  place  for  the  wor 
ship  of  God.  Its  pointed  roof  among  the  dark  fo 
liage  is  beautiful.  It  stands  near  our  baby's  bed, 
and  casts  a  protecting  shadow  over  it.  The  renova 
ted  father  calls  it  the  "first-fruits  from  his  grave." 


The  first  Sunday  in  our  new  chapel.  Henry 
had  arranged  it  with  all  the  scrupulous  neatness 
and  taste  that  the  materials  which  we  could  com 
mand  permitted.  With  the  most  reverent  man 
ner,  and  his  perfect  elocution,  he  read  the  service 
of  the  Episcopal  Church,  and  a  simple  sermon 
from  a  volume  in  our  small  library.  The  audi 
ence  was  larger  than  we  expected,  and  deeply  at 
tentive.  The  selected  hymns  were  adapted  to 
familiar  old  tunes,  and  sustained  by  a  few  sweet 
voices.  We  hope  by  practice  to  make  this  de 
vout  music,  and  the  chants  also,  sit  on  the  lips, 
and  lift  the  souls  of  all  who  are  gathered  here. 
My  husband  intends  to  continue  this  sacred  serv 
ice  every  Sabbath,  Deo  volente,  until  a  regular 
clergyman  shall  be  called  to  minister  at  the  altar. 
May  a  blessing  descend  upon  his  own  soul  from 
Him  who  despiseth  not  the  lowliness  of  the  tem 
ple  or  the  worshiper,  but  looketh  upon  the  heart. 


304 


Doth  not  grief  ripen  the  character  ?  Are  not 
some  of  the  Christian  graces  watered  by  tears  ? 
I  have  read  of  a  gardener  who,  in  cultivating  a 
pomegranate,  found  its  strength  was  expending 
itself  too  much  in  leaves,  and,  by  cutting  the 
stalk  almost  through,  caused  it  to  bring  forth 
fruit. 


A  poor  young  Irish  woman,  who,  with  her  hus 
band,  came  as  farm-servants  to  a  family  recently 
removed  hither,  has  lost  her  babe.  I  went  to  see 
the  stranger,  moved  by  the  strong  sisterhood  of 
a  like  sorrow.  She  was  convulsed  with  weeping, 
and  told  me  at  broken  intervals  how  beautiful 
he  was. 

"  If  he  could  only  jist  have  been  buried  in  his 
own  swate  home,  with  the  wake  and  the  grand 
mother's  tears  to  keep  his  grave  green,  it  would 
not  have  been  so  bad.  Och  hone !  but  now  here 
he  is  in  the  wild  woods." 

I  suggested  that  it  would  be  a  comfort  to  her 
to  visit  his  little  bed,  which  she  could  not  have 
done  had  he  died  on  the  voyage  and  been  buried 
in  the  deep. 

"  Then  the  fishes  would  have  ate  him ;  and 
here  'twill  be  the  crawling  land-beasts.  And  we 


LUCY   HOWARD'S   JOURNAL.  305 

got  ye  through  all  the  throuble  of  the  ship  and 
the  bad  storms  jist  for  this,  ye  darlint.  Oh! 
what  for  did  ye  die  ?" 

I  began  to  despair  of  comforting  her.  But,  as 
I  was  going,  she  seized  my  hand  as  with  a  lion's 
grasp,  exclaiming, 

"Oh,  but  ye're  kind  and  good,  so  ye  be ;  for, 
indade,  there's  a  tear  in  your  own  eye.  I  see  it." 


With  what  a  holy  charm  God's  consecrated 
day  steals  over  us,  like  an  angel's  pinion.  It 
makes  a  pause  in  the  world's  discordant  song. 
To  the  throng  of  cares  it  says,  like  the  kingly 
patriarch,  "  Abide  ye  here,  while  I  go  yonder  to 
worship."  It  uplifts  from  earth  the  powers  that 
were  not  lent  to  die  there ;  it  inspires  new 
strength  for  coming  duties ;  it  brings  armor  for 
unknown  trials  ;  it  soothes  the  spirit  into  pa 
tience,  that  it  may  have  victory.  Never  have  I 
so  fully  realized  its  influence  as  in  this  little  un 
pretending  chapel,  surrounded  by  humble  com 
panions,  divested  of  all  pomp  of  ritual,  confessing 
with  one  voice  to  Him  whom  they  worship  that 
"they  have  erred  and  strayed  from  His  ways 
like  lost  sheep."  Sometimes  their  earnest  hu 
mility  of  devotion  suggests  the  thought  that 
"such  the  Father  chooseth  to  worship  Him," 


306  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

when  not  "many  mighty,  not   many  rich,  not 
many  noble  are  called." 


Is  it  possible  that  I  shall  never  look  again 
upon  the  beauty  of  that  venerable  brow?  My 
blessed  grandfather,  standing  ever  to  me  in  the 
place  of  a  departed  parent,  how  dear  thou  wert 
to  me !  dearer  for  thy  silver  locks,  the  dignity  of 
thy  saintly  age,  the  child-like  confidence  with 
which,  in  advancing  years,  thou  didst  rely  upon 
those  whom  once  thy  strength  protected.  Alas ! 
wherever  I  go,  whatever  I  do,  a  voice  of  lamen 
tation  is  flowing  through  my  soul. 


His  last  letter  was  so  cheerful,  who  could  have 
thought  that  the  change  was  so  near?  He  had 
mourned  much  for  little  Willie,  his  namesake 
and  idol ;  but  the  sorrow  had  gone  by,  and  he 
spoke  of  him  only  as  a  lamb  in  the  fold  of  the 
Chief  Shepherd.  Life  brightened  until  its  latest 
drop  mingled  with  that  Kiver  of  God  which  is 
clear  as  crystal.  His  transition  was  with  brief 
warning.  So  he  wished  it  to  be. 

"Sing,  my  own  daughter,  sing!  Give  me 
back,  with  the  hymn  that  I  love,  to  the  God  of 
love.  Gently  hath  He  led  me  all  my  days." 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  307 

Sweet  messages  he  sent  us.  and  other  friends — 
flowers  cast  back  from  heaven's  gate  as  he  entered. 

"There  is  no  fear  in  death.  Perfect  love 
take  th  it  away.  He  maketh  the  valley  light. 
Henceforth  there  is  no  more  darkness." 

Radiant  grew  his  features,  as  if  youth  had  re 
turned.  Raising  his  eyes,  he  murmured  for  the 
last  time,  like  the  tuneful  cadence  of  a  harp, 

"Give  praise!  give  praise!" 

And  so  he  departed. 


Thoughts  from  thy  grave,  dear  saint,  how  strong  their  trace! 

Bright  wings  unfold,  and  seraph  voices  cry, 
There  is  no  death,  but  only  change  of  place ; 

No  death !  no  death  to  immortality  ! 
In  God's  great  universe  is  room  for  all 

The  souls  that  He  hath  made.     The  shroud,  the  pall, 
False  trophies  of  a  fancied  victory, 

Behold  their  boasted  terrors  fade  and  fall ! 
Out  of  the  ship,  pale  trembler !     Tread  the  shore 
Of  the  eternal  life ;  thy  voyage  with  Time  is  o'er. 

Question  not  God,  oh  being  of  the  dust ! 

Make  no  conditions  what  thy  lot  shall  be ; 
Ask  for  no  pledge  of  Him.     Be  still,  and  trust ; 

Trust,  and  be  joyful,  for  His  grace  is  free. 
So  pass  in  faith  where'er  He  bids  thee  go ; 

Gird  thee  with  truth,  in  sunlight  or  in  shade ; 
Uproot  the  weed  of  self,  and  meekly  sow 

Sweet  seeds  of  love  for  all  His  hand  hath  made  ; 
Build  not  on  rituals :  make  His  love  thy  text, 
And  all  shall  work  thy  good,  in  this  life  or  the  next. 


308  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

Now  my  blessed  mother  will  come  to  us.  She 
will  dwell  under  our  own  roof.  We  shall  be  sun 
dered  no  more.  Have  I  ever  before  written  words 
so  full  of  joy  ?  Shall  not  the  whole  of  my  life 
below  be  one  unmixed  strain  of  gratitude  to  God  ? 


My  dear  husband  is  so  delighted  at  the  coming 
of  my  mother.  Had  he  been  nurtured  at  her 
breast,  he  could  not  more  perfectly  participate  in 
my  feelings.  Continually  he  is  forming  plans  to 
promote  her  convenience  and  comfort.  He  is 
constructing  two  additional  apartments,  that  she 
may  have  the  consciousness  that  a  portion  of  the 
house  is  peculiarly  her  own.  When  she  has 
completed  her  necessary  business,  Edgar  will  ac 
company  her  a  part  of  the  way,  until  Henry 
meets  and  takes  charge  of  her  in  the  public 
coaches  as  far  as  their  route  coincides  with  ours  ; 
then  faithful  Sandy,  in  our  own  carriage,  will 
convey  the  precious  travelers  to  this  peaceful  ru 
ral  abode.  Constantly  am  I  now  devising  or  ex 
ecuting  something  to  accommodate  or  give  her 
pleasure.  Is  it  indeed  true  that  I  shall  see  that 
serene,  heavenly  face  here,  in  this  room,  under 
these  trees  ?  Fly  swiftly,  intervening  moments  ! 
Beating  heart,  be  still ! 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  309 

I  am  thankful  that  we  have  been  enabled  to 
do  something  to  improve  the  premises,  originally 
so  rude,  ere  my  mother  saw  them.  The  inclosed 
grounds  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  house 
might  seem  to  have  really  been  under  longer  cul 
tivation.  Fruit-trees  have  been  set  out,  a  garden 
of  esculents  is  in  full  prosperity,  vines  encircle 
the  rustic  piazza  and  trellises,  and  a  rich  morn 
ing-glory,  from  home-seeds,  looks  in  at  my  win 
dow.  Immense  flocks  of  poultry  flourish  in  their 
own  proper  domain  ;  beautiful  cows  add  healthful 
luxuries  to  our  table ;  fine  horses  are  ready  to  bear 
us  wherever  the  still  improving  roads  invite.  On 
every  one  of  these  objects  I  now  look  with  an 
interest  unknown  before,  saying  perpetually  in 
my  heart,  my  mother  will  see,  my  mother  will 
share  them. 


Sandy,  who  has  remarkable  constructiveness, 
has  made,  out  of  common  boards,  sofas,  toilet-ta 
bles,  and  a  variety  of  seats,  which,  with  the  aid  of 
Orra's  needle,  I  have  covered  with  rich,  highly- 
glazed  chintz.  Recently,  also,  we  have  been  able 
to  procure  pretty  paper  for  our  walls ;  and  Hen 
ry,  who  determined,  soon  after  our  arrival,  to  have 
carpets,  procured  them  at  a  great  expense  of 


310         •  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL. 

transportation,  so  that  I  hope  my  dear  mother 
may  find  her  Western  home  not  comfortless,  nor 
wholly  devoid  of  taste. 


My  blessed  husband  has  left  me  to  meet  our 
mother.  I  would  fain  have  gone  with  him, 
but  he  feared  the  fatigue  for  me.  I  count  the 
intervening  hours,  and  talk  with  them.  Every 
parting  one  I  thank,  for  it  has  brought  them 
nearer.  Every  opening  one  I  charge  to  take  up 
ward  my  supplication  for  their  safety.  I  think 
it  was  a  rule  of  the  excellent  Bishop  Taylor  at 
the  striking  of  every  clock  to  lift  up  the  heart  for 
a  blessing  on  the  new-born  hour,  and  for  strength 
faithfully  to  discharge  all  its  duties  in  the  fear  of 
God.  Such  a  numbering  of  our  hours  would, 
indeed,  insure  the  growth  of  wisdom. 


The  last  day  of  expectation.  I  keep  myself 
employed  as  much  as  possible  in  little  services  for 
the  comfort  of  the  darling  travelers.  Still,  I  am 
ashamed  to  say  that  the  hours  seem  interminable. 


As  sunset  approached,  I  walked  forth,  hoping 
to  meet  them.     Twilight  found  me  thus  roaming 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL.  311 

and  listening  for  the  sound  of  wheels.  At  early 
eventide,  having  assured  myself  for  the  twentieth 
time  that  every  article  was  in  readiness  for  their 
refreshment,  I  caused  the  whole  house  to  Ibe  light 
ed,  that  through  the  vistas  and  arches  of  the 
groves  every  window  might  be  to  them  as  a  star. 


They  have  come!  they  have  come!  the  two 
dearest  beings  on  earth  —  my  all  the  world. 
Paler  and  thinner  is  she,  but  with  the  same  se 
rene  brow  and  soul  of  love.  Henry  put  us  in 
each  other's  arms,  and  wrapped  his  own  around 
both.  It  was  no  time  for  words.  Poor,  poor 
words ! 


Faithful  Amy  stood  waiting  for  some  token  of 
recognition,  the  tears  upon  her  cheeks.  Warm 
was  our  welcome  of  the  good  creature  to  her  new 
home.  She  and  the  kind  forest  girl  will  be  con 
genial  companions.  Sandy,  too,  who  had  borne 
an  active  part  in  bringing  these  treasures,  was 
comprehended  in  our  congratulations. 


It   cheered  me  that  my  mother  was  pleased 
with  the  spreading  of  a  Western  table.    With  me 


312  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

there  is  a  certain  sort  of  pride,  and  innate  inde 
pendence,  that  most  of  its  viands  are  of  our  own 
production.  I  can  now  understand  the  exulta 
tion  of  Dioclesian  over  the  cabbages  which  he 
had  reared.  We  have,  indeed,  a  commendable 
variety ;  our  sense  of  abundance  is  as  limitless 
as  the  soil  we  cultivate,  and  what  we  miss  of  for 
eign  luxury  we  perhaps  gain  in  health.  It  grat 
ified  our  dear  observer  to  see  that  we  mingled 
with  the  simple  life  of  new  settlers  attention  to 
neatness  and  order,  and  some  attempts  at  the 
taste  of  those  more  refined  habitudes  in  which 
we  had  been  educated. 


Inexpressibly  sweet  was  our  united  worship 
that  first  night  of  meeting.  Bowed  down  with  a 
weight  of  gratitude,  chastened  by  a  mutual  grief, 
bound  together  by  links  of  love,  sustained  by 
faith  in  Him  who  died  for  us,  most  precious  were 
"the  means  of  grace  and  the  hope  of  glory." 
Music  was  with  us  too,  in  her  fervent  simplicity. 
Our  small  household  had  been  duly  trained  to 
the  melody  of  the  devout  old  tunes,  and  the  voice 
of  my  mother,  on  whose  knee  I  learned  them  in 
lisping  infancy,  had  lost  none  of  its  warbling  pa 
thos.  We  sang  the  hymn  that  our  departed  pa 
triarch  loved,  "  There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight," 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL.  313 

and  his  favorite  chant,  "Blessed  be  the  Lord  God 
of  Israel,  who  hath  visited  and  redeemed  His 
people."  The  memory  of  those  who  were  once 
with  us  around  our  two  family  altars  melted  our 
hearts ;  but  the  chastened  tear  had  lost  its  bit 
terness.  Some  above  and  some  below,  joined 
they  not  still  in  the  same  symphony  of  praise? 
A  deeper  lowliness  had  been  gathered  from  our 
sorrows,  befitting  creatures  of  the  dust ;  yet, 
guided  by  the  Divine  strength  of  our  religion,  we 
could  trust  to  be  made  heirs  of  glory  when  this 
brief  probation  closes.  At  retiring,  methought 
there  was  on  every  countenance,  in  different  de 
grees,  some  expression  caught  from  that  passage 
of  inspiration  so  adapted  to  the  weariness,  the  be 
reavement,  and  the  trust  of  our  earthly  natures, 
"  He  giveth  His  beloved  sleep." 


Exhaustless  are  our  themes  of  discourse,  my 
mother  and  myself.  Side  by  side  we  pursue  the 
employments  of  the  day ;  hand  in  hand  we  seat 
ourselves  when  they  are  over.  Each  hour  sup 
plies  some  description  of  what  occurred  during 
our  separation,  some  bright  sunbeam  flashes  over 
the  disk  of  memory,  some  silver  ray  of  moonlight 
lingers  there,  or  some  tearful  cloud  passes,  leaving 
its  blessed  rainbow.  Even  the  silences  that  some- 
O 


314  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

times  settle  upon  us  are  understood  and  enjoyed. 
This  perfect  confidence  is  precious.  It  seems  al 
ways  due  to  the  "being  who  has  borne  so  much 
for  us.  I  can  scarcely  imagine  how  it  should 
ever  "be  otherwise  between  a  mother  and  daughter. 
Henry  is  unspeakably  cheered  by  it.  He  says 
he  can  now  leave  upon  his  necessary  avocations 
without  anxiety  for  my  loneliness  or  pressure  of 
care.  When  he  returns,  the  gladness  of  a  double 
welcome  awaits  him,  and  his  tender  consideration 
as  a  son  heightens  his  honor  as  a  husband  ;  so  a 
new  tide  of  joy  flows  over  our  peaceful  habitation. 
We  know  that  its  fountain  is  above.  The  heart 
of  our  servants  is  made  glad  by  it.  We  delight 
to  see  their  faces  decked  with  smiles,  and  to  know 
that  their  willing  aid  is  rendered  from  love.  Can 
we  ever  be  unmindful  of  Him  whose  "  mercies 
are  thus  new  every  morning,  fresh  every  mo 
ment  ?" 


The  good,  kind  creature,  Amy,  is  teaching  my 
forest  child  all  the  best  modes  of  household  work 
and  attendance.  I  could  not  be  myself  so  per 
fect  a  trainer.  She  finds  a  docile  pupil,  and  their 
zeal  is  wonderful.  They  keep  my  house  and  table 
in  speckless  sanctity,  and  every  window  as  clear 
as  crystal.  Not  content  with  former  limits,  they 


LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOUENAL.  315 

explore  new  ground  with  a  sort  of  patriotic  ardor. 
They  have  obtained  permission  to  take  one  of 
the  finest  cows  from  the  farmer,  whose  wife  has 
charge  of  the  dairy,  that  the  golden  butter  for  our 
own  board  may  be  made  and  stamped  in  the  most 
approved  fashion.  Moreover,  they  have  set  up  a 
spinning-wheel,  of  a  wondrous  brisk,  monotonous 
chorus,  and  a  reel,  whose  sharp  snap  makes  one 
start  like  a  pistol,  to  supply  some  deficiency  in 
what  the  Scotch  call  "napery."  It  is  pleasant 
to  see  such  an  active  partnership  so  amicably 
conducted.  It  is  founded  on  love,  and  that  de 
sire  for  the  general  good  that  makes  industry 
thrice  blessed.  I  trust,  also,  that  the  fear  of 
God  mingles  with  their  fidelity.  We  all  feel  it 
a  privilege  to  be  served  from  such  motives.  Hav 
ing  been  through  life  thus  indulged,  it  would  be 
to  me  a  serious  trial  to  depend  on  hirelings,  where 
pecuniary  gain  is  the  only  acting  motive,  and  who 
mete  out  sullen  service  without  a  consenting  heart. 


We  have  stood  together  by  the  spot  where 
Willie  slumbers.  With  him  the  bitterness  of 
death  hath  passed  ;  with  us,  the  keen  anguish  of 
sorrow.  Birds  poured  deep  melodies  from  the 
trees  around.  Oh,  winged  child,  dost  thou  hear 
and  answer  them  ? 


316  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

A  little  stone  of  the  purest  marble  marks  his 
rest.  The  loving  father  has  caused  to  be  en 
graved  upon  it  his  mother's  lines  : 

Released  without  a  sorrow, 

Exhaled  without  a  stain, 
We,  on  whose  hearts  that  angel  lay 
A  little  while,  to  cheer  our  way, 

Give  God  his  own  again. 


Through  the  influence  of  my  mother's  heaven- 
born  piety,  we  are  learning  to  speak  of  our  dead 
not  as  the  heathen  do.  Freed  are  they  from  the 
temptations  which  life  might  have  brought  them, 
from  the  misery  of  breathing  on  through  weary 
years  after  the  light  of  mind  has  departed.  No 
"leap  in  the  dark"  have  they  made,  but  through 
the  lighted  valley  gone  peacefully  to  the  loving 
Redeemer.  They  have  exchanged  earth's  soiled 
garments  for  the  white  robe  of  immortality.  The 
victor's  palm  has  been  given  them.  Would  we 
take  it  away?  Would  we  force  them  back? 
Would  we  repine  that  they  have  entered  before 
us  the  gates  of  the  celestial  city?  Should  we 
not  rather  praise  the  hand  that  has  earlier  drawn 
them  from  the  tossing  of  the  deluge,  and  which, 
from  the  window  of  the  ark,  is  still  stretched  forth 
for  us?  Should  we  not  give  higher  thanks  for 
that  part  of  our  family  who  are  at  rest,  over  whom 


317 

no  change  can  pass,  whose  feet  may  never  fall,  nor 
their  treasures  fleet  away  ?  Yes,  let  us  praise 
God  for  them,  and  take  earnest  heed  so  to  walk 
that  we  fail  not  to  meet  them  at  last,  a  family  in 
heaven. 


The  poetical  element,  like  the  religious  one,  is 
a  source  of  happiness.  It  may  be  so  cultivated 
as  to  soothe  suffering,  to  refine  enjoyment,  and  to 
sublimate  our  whole  nature.  I  speak  of  only  the 
very  limited  measure  in  which  I  have  been  ena 
bled  to  taste  it.  Those  who  have  taken  deeper 
draughts  can  better  set  forth  its  Bethesda  prop 
erties  ;  but  often  throughout  my  not  yet  very 
long  life  have  I  thus  apostrophized  the  spirit  of 
poetry : 

I  bring  a  broken  spirit.     Make  it  whole 
With  the  sweet  balm  of  song. 

To  her  I  spake 

Who  rules  the  spirit's  inborn  harmonies. 
And  not  in  vain ;  for  as  she  struck  her  harp 
Of  varied  symphony,  and  claimed  response, 
Forthwith  the  brooding  sadness  fled  away, 
And,  sitting  at  her  feet,  I  was  made  whole. 


318  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 


Tuesday,  January  1st,  1822. 

Great  Maker  of  the  universe,  all  worlds,  all 
systems  are  Thine.  They  keep  the  order  that 
Thou  hast  established,  and  hearken  unto  the 
voice  of  Thy  word.  All  their  countless  habi 
tants  are  Thine.  In  Thee  they  live,  and  move, 
and  have  their  being. 

Yet  Thou  dost  not  overlook  us  on  this  poor 
planet — we  who,  like  moths,  nutter  a  moment  and 
disappear.  Atoms  of  dust,  how  are  we  worthy 
to  come  into  remembrance  before  Thee?  Not 
worthy ;  but  we  have  an  Advocate  with  whom 
Thou  art  well-pleased.  We  would  hide  our 
selves  in  Him.  Not  worthy ;  yet  in  the  rich 
ness  of  Thy  great  mercy  Thou  dost  listen  to  our 
supplications.  Thou  art  even  more  ready  to 
hear  than  we  to  speak.  Blessed  be  Thy  name 
that  we  are  not  left  to  build  our  faith  upon  the 
shifting  sands,  the  broken  cisterns,  the  fleeting- 
dews  of  human  goodness. 

Oh,  teach  us  to  pray.  What  the  disciples  be 
sought  of  Jesus  while  still  in  His  presence,  with 
in  the  sound  of  His  voice,  much  greater  need 
have  we  to  ask,  who  are  so  far  away  from  both. 
Lord,  teach  us  to  pray  with  the  concentration  of 


LUCY  HOWAKDS  JOUENAL. 

every  faculty,  with  entire  homage  of  the  soul, 
with  love  stronger  than  death. 

We  believe  that  there  is  within  us  a  hope  that 
can  not  die.  Thou  hast  planted  it.  Crown  it 
in  Thine  appointed  time  with  the  glory  which 
Thou  hast  laid  up  for  those  that  love  Thee,  which 
the  eye  of  man  hath  not  looked  upon,  nor  his 
heart  conceived.  So,  uplifted  by  Thine  immu 
table  promise,  leaning  on  Thine  omnipotent  arm, 
striving  to  leave  nothing  undone  which  Thou 
hast  commanded  us  to  do, .  may  we  pass  on  this 
beautiful  pilgrimage  till  the  whisper  of  the  death- 
angel  summons  us,  and  we  are  at  home  with  Thee. 


In  the  vision  of  an  immense  temple,  which, 
with  its  minute  admeasurement,  is  described  by 
one  of  the  prophets,  he  mentions,  among  the  or 
naments  upon  the  walls  and  massy  doors,  palm- 
trees  and  cherubims  alternately  placed  :  "so  that 
a  palm-tree  was  between  a  cherub  and  a  cherub." 
Did  these  beautiful  objects,  in  their  fair  order, 
shadow  forth  the  peace  of  earth  and  the  music  of 
heaven  ?  mutely  enforcing  that 

"He  who  hath  God's  spirit  here 
Shall  see  His  glory  there?" 


320  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

Henry  is  busying  himself  with  a  good  and 
great  plan.  It  occupies  his  thoughts  and  con 
versation.  It  is  to  lease,  at  low  prices,  small 
portions  of  his  lands  to  industrious  settlers,  for 
whom  he  will  put  up  simple  but  convenient  ten 
ements,  keeping  in  view  a  pleasant  degree  of  ex 
ternal  uniformity.  Afflicted  as  he  has  been,  he 
says  he  renounces  the  desire  of  becoming  rich, 
but  will  enrich  his  country  as  far  as  he  is  able  by 
a  thrifty,  meritorious  population.  He  is  determ 
ined  to  admit  only  such  as  have  a  correct  moral 
character,  and  are  willing  to  work.  His  wish  is 
that  they  should  derive  subsistence  for  their  fam 
ilies,  or  the  principal  part  of  it,  from  llieir  leased 
lands,  and  to  furnish  employment  on  his  own,  at 
fair  wages,  for  such  time  as  they  can  spare.  To 
that  end  he  is  to  devote  large  expanses  to  the 
culture  of  grain,  lest  their  own  element  of  bread 
should  fall  short,  and  to  cover  his  pastures  with 
sheep,  whose  fleeces  will  be  salable  in  distant 
markets.  He  contemplates,  also,  that  each  house 
hold,  according  to  its  ability,  should  sustain  do 
mestic  manufactures  for  the  supply  of  its  own 
coarser  and  necessary  fabrics.  Sandy  is  en 
tranced  with  delight  at  being  told  a  Scottish 
weaver  has  decided  to  come,  and  I  have  been  al 
most  equally  uplifted  at  hearing  that  a  physician 
and  merchant  from  our  own  native  region  may  be 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  321 

expected,  each  of  whom  are  also  to  take  a  glebe 
for  cultivation.  Henry,  with  his  ardent  fancy,  al 
ready  sees  this  Laconian  community  in  full  op 
eration,  and  intends  to  offer  agricultural  and  hor 
ticultural  premiums  at  the  earliest  possible  op 
portunity.  But  his  colony  is  not  Utopian,  for 
applications  have  been  already  made,  though  he 
wisely  examines  credentials  so  scrupulously  ere 
he  accepts,  that  it  will  scarcely  increase  too  rapid 
ly  to  be  healthful.  I  tell  my  lord  of  the  manor 
that  I  have  also  some  private  ambitious  views  to 
gratify,  and  foresee  among  the  children  who  will 
thus  come  together  materials  for  such  a  kind  of 
school  as  cheered  our  dear  old  home.  He  as 
sures  me  that  I  shall  be  advanced  to  the  honor 
of  domineering  over  them  for  one  afternoon  in 
the  week,  but  that  his  plan,  when  completed,  com 
prises  a  school-house  and  regular  teacher,  as  well 
as  a  clergyman  and  church.  May  God  grant 
him  life  and  strength  to  mature  his  designs,  for  I 
am  sure  they  spring  from  unselfish  motives  and 
a  pure  patriotism.  If  his  purposes  and  prayers 
could  be  perfectly  illustrated,  he  would,  in  the 
words  of  the  eloquent  prophet,  "make  the  wil 
derness  an  Eden,  and  the  desert  a  garden  of  the 
Lord." 


322  LUCY  HOWAKD'S  JOURNAL. 


.home-happiness  to  ,be  the  .secret.-  of 
national  prosperity.  Men  who  have  not  this 
fountain  of  peace,  this  wing  of  love  folded  around 
them,  are  more  ready  for  "  treasons,  stratagems, 
and  spoils."  Herein  is  the  patriotism  of  woman 
and  her  privilege.  Not  to  wrestle  at  the  ballot- 
box  ;  not  to  shout  in  popular  assemblies  ;  not  to 
steer  the  ship  through  the  blackening  tempest, 
nor  sound  the  trumpet  for  the  battle-field,  but 
to  cheer  and  charm  at  board  and  hearth-stone  ; 
to  teach  the  sanctities  of  deathless  affection  ;  to 
breathe  heaven's  melodies  over  the  cradle-sleeper  ; 
to  fashion  by  holy  example  every  soul  under  her 
roof  for  a  realm  of  harmony  and  peace.  Homes 
thus  ordered,  sprinkled  over  a  land,  are  as  dew- 
drops,  giving  freshness  and  beauty  ;  as  the  hid 
den  salt,  preserving  the  great  heaving  ocean  in 
health  and  purity.  Who  can  desire  more  honor 
than  thus  to  be  priestess  at  the  shrine  of  the 
household  affections  till  she  finds  her  place  among 
"an  innumerable  company  of  angels,  and  spirits 
of  the  just  made  perfect,  whose  names  are  written 
in  heaven  ?" 


In  my  stated  perusal  of  the  Scriptures  this 
morning,  I  was  impressed  with  the  great  beauty 
of  a  promise  in  the  Divine  name  which  occurs 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  323 

in  tlio  tliirty-fourth  chapter  of  Ezekiel :  "I  will 
seek  that  which  was  lost,  and  bring  again  that 
which  was  driven  away,  and  bind  up  that  which 
was  broken,  and  strengthen  that  which  was  sick." 
Methinks  it  would  be  an  excellent  text  for  a  con 
solatory  sermon,  as  comprehending  the  prominent 
varieties  of  human  suffering  with  their  merciful 
antidotes.  A  passage  in  the  thirty-seventh  chap 
ter  of  the  same  book,  at  the  sixteenth  and  sev 
enteenth  verses,  furnishes  a  natural  foundation 
for  the  structure  of  a  discourse  on  national  union, 
should  any  dissension  ever  arise  among  these 
banded  states,  this  spreading,  happy,  and  pros 
perous  family ;  which  may  our  Almighty  Pro 
tector  avert.  The  prophet  from  whom  I  have 
quoted,  though  overshadowed  in  eloquence  by 
Isaiah,  and  surpassed  in  pathos  by  Jeremiah, 
has  occasionally  great  vigor  and  picturesque  pow 
er.  He  seems,  also,  to  have  been  an  observer 
of  dates,  or  of  that  minuteness  in  chronology 
which  I  so  much  regard,  as  he  thus  records  the 
period  of  one  of  his  visions :  u  In  the  five-and- 
twentieth  year  of  our  captivity,  in  the  tenth  day 
of  the  month,  in  the  fourteenth  year  after  the 
city  was  smitten,  in  the  self-same  day,  the  hand 
of  the  Lord  was  upon  me."  Sometimes  I  find 
striking  texts  which  ministers  seldom  use.  Would 
not  this  from  Kings,  "  Then  he  said,  What  title 


324 

is  that  I  see  ?  And  the  men  of  the  city  told  him, 
It  is  the  sepulchre  of  the  man  of  God,"  be  a  good 
one  at  the  funeral  obsequies  of  a  distinguished 
saintly  person  ?  And  might  not  the  solitude  and 
meditation  which  are  salutary  after  any  great  af 
fliction  be  enforced  by  the  description  of  Moses : 
"  While  the  cloud  tarried  upon  the  tabernacle, 
remaining  thereon,  the  children  of  Israel  abode 
in  their  tents?"  The  question  of  the  lawless 
Danites  to  the  recreant  priest  of  Micah,  "  What 
maJcest  thou  in  this  place?  and  what  hast  thou 
here  ?"  might  be  made  to  rebuke  that  venal  spirit 
which  counts  the  gain  of  money  above  the  gain 
of  godliness  ;  and  the  accepted  prayer  of  Jabez, 
"  Oh  that  Thou  wouldest  keep  me  from  evil,  that 
it  may  not  grieve  me,"  shadows  forth  that  eleva 
tion  of  spirit  above  the  ills  of  time  which  should 
be  sought  for  by  those  whose  home  and  heritage 
are  in  heaven. 


People  who  enter  on  the  roughnesses  of  West 
ern  life  will  do  well  to  divest  themselves  as  soon 
as  possible  of  enervating  associations.  This  is 
not  merely  an  accomplishment,  but  a  species  of 
self-defense — a  heart-shield.  "Forgetting  the 
things  that  are  behind"  is  essential  to  a  brave 
"pressing  onward  to  those  that  are  before." 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  325 

"Behold,  all  things  are  become  new,"  says  the 
wondering  housekeeper,  who,  entering  her  rude 
mansion,  misses  the  carpeted  floor  and  the  marble 
mantel-piece.  Yes  ;  "but  it  is  of  no  use  to  com 
plain  or  to  compare.  The  direction  to  the  nephew 
of  Abraham  and  his  emigrating  family,  "Look 
not  back,"  is  appropriate  to  you ;  for,  though 
you  might  not,  like  his  wife,  in  case  of  disobe 
dience  be  turned  into  a  pillar  of  salt,  you  might, 
perchance,  become  a  stumbling-block  to  those, 
around,  or  be  reminded  of  the  regrets  of  the  good 
lady  who  said,  "jT'm  a  stumbling-block  to  my 
self"  Go  ahead  and  work.  See  where  there  is 
any  good  to  be  done,  and  do  it.  Look  aloft,  and 
gather  strength,  and  wear  the  smile  of  the  "  angel 
who  came  and  sat  under  the  oak  at  Ophrah  while 
they  were  threshing  wheat,"  or  of  him  who  found 
Hagar  a  wanderer  in  the  wilderness,  and  comfort 
ed  her. 


In  reading  the  touching  narrative  of  the  last- 
named  exile,  who,  when  her  slender  store  of  wa 
ter  was  spent,  "  cast  her  son  among  the  shrubs, 
and  sat  down  a  good  way  from  him,  as  it  were  a 
bow-shot,  saying,  Let  me  not  see  the  death  of  the 
child,"  I  am  sometimes  troubled  by  an  associa 
tion  quite  at  war  with  the  spirit  of  the  scene. 


1 


326 

It  is  of  a  picture  I  once  saw,  from  a  school  for 
embroidery,  wrought  out  with  much  labor,  and 
many  stitches  in  gay-colored  silks.  Of  Hagar 
and  Ishmael  I  wish  to  say  little,  save  that  their 
attitudes  and  perspective  destroyed  the  pathos 
of  their  condition.  The  principal  figure  was  a 
winged  creature,  descending  with  a  huge  cistern 
of  indigo-tinted  water,  whose  immense  curved 
and  twisted  handles  were  done  in  a  profusion  of 
gold  thread.  His  back  was  crooked,  as  if  in 
jeopardy  from  the  weight  he  bore,  and  under  his 
eyes  was  a  thick  stripe  of  purple,  perhaps  to 
show  that  the  blood  settled  there  from  over-ex 
ertion.  A  distant  view  of  a  fine  bay,  with  a 
vessel  under  sail,  completed  the  artist's  idea  of 
desert  scenery. 

It  is  unfortunate  when  any  ludicrous  recollec- 
'  tion  mingles  with  those  sacred  pages,  which  we 
would  fain  regard  with  the  highest  reverence. 
It  is  not  enough  that  the  art  which  seeks  to  il 
lustrate  them  should  be  honest  in  its  purposes ; 
it  ought  to  draw  from  a  pure  taste  the  ability 
not  to  injure  them,  or  debase  the  conceptions  of 
other  minds ;  it  should  have  some  fitness  and 
consecration  for  the  office,  as  the  sons  of  Levi 
were  required  to  purify  themselves,  and  put  on 
holy  garments,  ere,  even  in  the  humbler  services 
of  the  sanctuary,  they  were  held  worthy  to  "  light 
the  lamps  and  bear  the  vessels  of  the  Lord." 


327 


In  our  own  far  home  we  were  greatly  interest 
ed  in  a  little  deaf  and  dumb  girl.  Its  babyhood 
was  singularly  thoughtful,  and  the  mother  won 
dered  why  it  would  not  smile  at  her  caressing 
voice,  or  be  soothed  to  sleep  by  her  lullaby. 
When  old  enough  to  speak,  it  mingled  in  the 
sports  of  other  children,  but  heeded  not  their  call, 
and  when  it  was  spoken  to,  answered  not.  The 
poor  mother  was  slow  to  admit  what  others  dis 
cerned,  and  what  she  perhaps  inwardly  believed. 
To  her  it  seemed  a  blemish  to  have  borne  a 
child  doomed  to  perpetual  silence  and  ignorance. 
When  she  could  no  longer  conceal  the  fact  that 
the  loved  creature  was  indeed  forever  shut  from 
the  world  of  sound  and  of  speech,  her  agony  was 
intense.  Our  sympathy  for  her  and  for  the  little 
one,  who,  though  sprightly,  was  somewhat  unruly 
and  wayward,  caused  us  greatly  to  rejoice  at  hear 
ing  that  an  institution  for  the  instruction  of  deaf 
mutes  had  been  projected,  and  a  philanthropic  gen 
tleman  sent  to  France  to  learn  the  system  in 
vented  by  the  Abbes  L'Epee  and  Sicard.  This 
unique  and  ingenious  mode  of  education  com 
menced  a  year  or  two  since,  under  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Gallaudet  and  Mr.  Clerc,  the  latter  a  professor 
from  the  Institute  in  Paris ;  and  we  were  look 
ing  forward  with  pleasure  to  the  time  when  our 


328  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

silent  neighbor  should  Ibe  old  enough  to  be  sent 
from  home  and  share  in  its  benefits.  Recent  in 
telligence  from  the  East  announces  that  a  line  ed 
ifice,  devoted  to  that  purpose,  has  been  erected  at 
Hartford,  one  of  the  pleasantest  cities  in  Connect 
icut.  It  was  consecrated  with  solemn  religious 
services  on  the  21st  of  April.  My  dear  mother, 
who,  warmly  remembering  all  the  circumstances 
connected  with  the  little  deaf  mute  who  had  so 
often  sat  on  her  knee,  and  whom  we  both  vague 
ly  endeavored  to  teach  by  pictures  and  signs,  ex 
claimed,  "  The  21st  of  April,  1822,  is  a  date  that 
should  be  ever  bright  in  the  annals  of  benevo 
lence."  Henry,  whose  mind  is  rich  in  historic 
lore  and  its  coincidences,  said  that  the  era  had 
been  long  since  distinguished,  the  building  of 
Rome  being  announced  by  chronologers  as  on  the 
21st  of  April,  753  years  before  Christ.  Differ 
ing  events,  indeed,  were  those  thus  divided  by 
the  solemn  march  of  more  than  2500  centuries. 
One,  the  birth  of  that  heathen  empire,  the  clangor 
of  whose  arms  disturbed  the  world,  and  whose 
tyrant  foot  trod  upon  the  neck  of  kings,  gather 
ing  their  meat  under  her  table ;  and  the  other, 
the  quiet  rising  of  that  peaceful  dome  where  the 
dear  Redeemer  still  says  to  the  deafened  ear  and 
the  sealed  lip  what  he  once  said  when  on  earth  to 
the  blinded  eye,  "  Ephphatha — be  opened." 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  329 

Cowper,  in  his  "  Task,"  asserts  that  we  might 
learn,  if  not  too  proud,  many  good  and  useful  les 
sons  from  animal  instructors.  How  true  is  his 
remark !  The  dog  and  horse  have  long  been  au 
thorized  teachers.  To  descend  somewhat  in  the 
scale  of  quadruped  preceptorship,  I  have  thought 
that  the  quiet  movements  and  noiseless  footsteps 
of  a  mouse  might  not  be  valueless  models  in  the 
nurse's  chamber. 


The  needle,  that  sure  friend  of  our  sex,  still 
affords  unabated  pleasure.  A  stated  part  of  each 
day  dear  mother  and  myself  enjoy  it  together, 
engaged  on  a  beautiful  set  of  shirts  for  the  be 
loved  husband  and  son,  and  reading  alternately. 
Orra  considers  it  a  privilege  to  be  permitted  to 
sit  with  us  and  pursue  her  plainer  work.  She 
also  takes  her  turn  in  reading,  having  been  dili 
gently  instructed.  She  is  readily  adopting  by 
this  practice  a  correct  emphasis,  without  any  di 
rect  teaching  except  example.  She  is  growing 
a  girl  of  rather  striking  appearance,  with  her 
wealth  of  raven  hair,  a  complexion  not  too  dark 
to  show  changes  of  color,  a  form  rather  more  en 
Ion  point  than  appertains  to  her  race,  and  the  - 
sweet,  low  voice,  and  delicately-shaped  hands  for 


330 

which  their  women  are  remarkable.  Her  mind 
readily  opens  to  knowledge,  and  her  heart  to  re 
ligious  feeling.  In  speaking  of  the  Author  of  all 
our  mercies  and  hopes,  she  prefers  the  epithet  of 
her  own  people,  "The  Great  Spirit,"  which  she 
always  utters  reverentially.  Her  warmth  of  grat 
itude  is  intense,  and  might  disprove  the  assertion, 
so  sweepingly  made,  that  the  "  lower  classes  are 
not  susceptible  of  it."  I  should  like  to  have  the 
believer  in  this  philosophy  see  her  glistening  eye 
and  expressive  features  when  she  says,  as  she 
often  does  spontaneously, 

"  The  Great  Spirit  gave  me  life.  You  saved 
it." 

Her  attachment  to  the  memory  of  little  Wil 
lie  is  very  touching.  The  sudden  mention  of 
his  name,  the  unexpected  finding  of  any  article 
that  he  wore,  or  any  toy  he  played  with,  calls 
forth  a  burst  of  irrepressible  sobs  and  tears. 
Sometimes  she  steals  silently  to  his  grave,  and 
hides  her  face  among  the  long  grass  there,  as  if 
the  love  of  that  innocent  being  could  never  be  for 
gotten  by  her  lone  heart.  These  things  endear 
her  to  us,  and  we  thank  Him  who  enabled  us  to 
throw  our  protection  over  this  outcast  daughter 
of  the  forest. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  331 

Letters  from  our  New  England  home  some, 
times  come  to  cheer  and  keep  our  interests  awake- 
Our  last  convey  information  that  dear  Mary  Ann 
and  Edgar,  so  long  affianced  in  heart  and  congen 
ial  in  spirit,  are  soon  to  enter  the  holy  estate  of 
matrimony.  They  have  prudently  waited  until 
he  should  have  completed  his  medical  studies, 
and  obtain  a  feasible  prospect  of  establishment 
in  his  profession.  It  is  decided  that  in  the  course 
of  the  present  year  he  shall  become  an  assistant 
of  his  father,  whose  amount  of  business  and  de 
clining  years  render  such  a  connection  desirable. 
Their  wedding  journey  will  be  to  visit  us.  Oh, 
with  what  delight  shall  we  welcome  her  whose 
friendship  from  our  school-days  has  known  no 
interruption  or  shadow  of  change,  and  who  has 
proved  by  services  and  sacrifices  that  this  holy 
sentiment  is  more  than  a  name.  Blessings  be  on 
her  true  heart  and  that  of  her  chosen  life's  com 
panion. 


Dear  mother  much  enjoys  our  drives  through 
the  forests  and  their  fair  openings,  and  to  notice 
the  vigorous  productions  of  this  fertile  soil.  She 
does  not  mind  an  occasional  jolt,  though  Henry, 
with  his  laborers,  has  made  our  favorite  rides  as 
smooth  as  possible.  One  of  our  more  distant  ex- 


332  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL. 

cursions  is  to  the  nucleus  of  a  village,  where,  on 
a  fine,  bold  stream,  a  grist  and  saw-mill  are  in 
busy  operation.  The  latter  transmutes  with  won 
drous  rapidity  immense  trunks  into  the  boards 
that  form  our  habitations. 

In  a  small  tenement  adjacent  is  an  old  man, 
who  removed  thither  from  New  England  with  the 
family  of  his  son,  and  officiates  as  the  Crispin  of 
the  surrounding  region.  He  is  a  happy  Metho 
dist,  and  from  his  work-bench,  which  stands  under 
the  trees,  near  the  door,  in  pleasant  summer  days, 
his  voice  may  be  heard  ere  you  approach  singing 
the  hymns  of  his  sect.  It  is  cheering  to  be  met 
in  the  primeval  forest  by  the  echo  of  such  soul- 
strains  : 

"  Oh  tell  me  no  more 

Of  this  world's  vain  store, 
The  time  for  such  trifles 

With  me  now  is  o'er ; 
A  country  I've  found 

Where  true  joys  abound, 
To  dwell  I'm  determined 

On  that  happy  ground." 

He  is  greatly  pleased  when  we  stop  to  see  him, 
and  ask  for  some  story  of  his  early  days.  To 
talk  is  a  luxury,  since  most  of  those  around  are 
too  hard-working  to  listen  to  him.  He  spon 
taneously  falls  into  themes  connected  with  the 
Revolution.  The  taking  of  Burgoyne,  in  which 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  333 

he  was  a  participator,  is  his  chief  and  choice  sub 
ject. 

"  Five-and-forty  years  will  it  be,  come  next 
October,  since  that  time.  I  was  a  smart  young 
fellow  of  five-and-twenty,  with  a  long  gun,  which 
spoke  up  pretty  sharp  and  often,  when  there  was 
a  good  chance  to  take  aim.  To  see  them  hand 
some  red-coats  lay  down  their  arms,  polished  just 
as  bright  as  a  dollar!  Oh,  what  a  day  for  the 
country!" 

Down  go  last  and  awls,  and  up  jumps  he,  if 
not  to  "  shoulder  a  crutch,"  at  least  to  "  show 
how  fields  were  won." 

"  I  got  a  shot  in  my  knee.  I  did  not  mind  it 
much,  though  I've  limped  some  ever  since.  Gen 
eral  Arnold  was  a  courageous  critter,  real  Con 
necticut  born.  Why,  I've  seen  him  in  the  bat 
tle  of  Stillwater  storm  the  enemy's  works  at  the 
head  of  his  rigiment,  and  leap  his  horse  first  over 
the  breast-work,  and  fight  like  a  dragon  all  alone 
by  himself  till  his  men  came  up.  The  sogers 
liked  him,  he  was  so  darin ;  but  he  was  a  wicked 
body,  and  come  out  at  the  leetle  eend  of  the  horn, 
as  he  desarv'd  to." 

One  of  his  favorite  forms  of  narrative  is  the 
circumstance  of  some  British  prisoners  being 
quartered  in  his  own  town  while  he  was  remain 
ing  at  home  in  consequence  of  his  wound. 


334  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

"  Fine  fellows  they  was  too,  them  British  of 
ficers  and  sogers,  when  you  did  not  have  to  fight 
'em.  Plenty  o'  gold  they  had,  and  spent  it  as 
free  as  water.  The  old  king,  George  the  Third, 
paid  his  troops  well,  I'll  say  that  for  him.  Why, 
I  guess  the  women-folks  there  took  as  much  spe 
cie  from  them  for  eggs,  and  chickens,  and  butter, 
and  sich-like,  as  their  husbands  got  through  the 
whole  o'  the  war-time ;  cause,  you  know,  they  was 
paid  in  Continental  money,  which  was  no  better 
than  rags,  and  finally  dwindled  down  to  nothin." 

We  like  to  make  his  honest  heart  happy  by 
leading  it  through  the  past,  as  well  as  by  gifts  of 
some  article  of  apparel  we  have  made  for  him,  or 
something  for  his  palate,  founded  on  its  New  En 
gland  fondnesses,  which  he  always  receives  grate 
fully;  but  the  principal  benefaction  is  that  of 
listening  with  a  marked  attention.  They  with 
whom  the  old  dwell  should  find  time  for  their 
recitals,  for  it  keeps  the  mind  from  becoming 
dormant ;  and  should  feel  it  a  duty,  not  only  to 
have  patience  with,  but  to  cherish  the  garrulity 
of  venerable  age. 


Dear  little  Willie!  How  often  he  glides  be 
fore  me  in  dreams.  I  stretch  out  my  arms,  but 
the  vision  mocks  my  embrace.  I  say,  "Darling^ 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  335 

speak  to  mother,"  hut  there  is  no  sound.     Yet 
ever  on  the  brow  is  that  same  sweet  smile. 

Oh,  lamb  of  my  bosom,  still  come  to  me, 
though  it  be  in  silence  and  in  mystery.  Still 
dwell  beside  me,  though  shadowy  and  impalpa 
ble.  When  this  sleep  that  we  call  life  breaks, 
shall  we  not  meet,  and  be  as  one  soul  in  thy 
Shepherd's  fold  ? 


Is  it  not  an  unspeakable  privilege  to  "live, 
and  move,  and  have  a  being"  in  God's  beautiful 
world  ?  My  heart  is  filled  to  overflowing  with  a 
sense  of  the  Divine  goodness.  How  can  I  tes 
tify  the  gratitude  that  it  creates?  Shall  it  not 
be  by  doing  good  to  His  children  according  to 
my  ability?  Are  not  all  mankind  His  children? 
the  creatures  of  his  power  ?  the  partakers  of  his 
bounty  ?  To  the  lowest,  the  most  unrefined,  the 
maimed,  the  mendicant,  the  despised,  the  fallen, 
I  would  turn  with  an  aiding  hand  or  a  prayer  of 
pity,  and,  for  my  dear  Savior's  sake,  who  died  to 
save  the  lost,  embrace  all  with  the  love  of  untir 
ing  benevolence. 


It  was  mentioned  at  our  breakfast-table  this 
beautiful  autumnal  morning  that  it  is  the  nine- 


336  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

teenth  anniversary  of  the  death  of  Herder.  That 
event  took  place  on  the  18th  of  October,  1803, 
when  he  had  attained  the  age  of  fifty-nine.  While 
composing  a  hymn  to  the  Deity,  every  thought 
uplifted  and  absorbed,  the  wheels  of  life  ceased  to 
move,  and  he  was  summoned  to  His  presence. 
What  a  sublime  transition !  The  last  theme  of 
earth  caught  up  and  finished  in  heaven. 

While  conversing  on  this  subject,  a  feature  of 
similarity  was  recollected  in  the  passing  away  of 
Poliziano,  the  Italian  poet,  more  than  three  cen 
turies  since.  Smitten  with  sorrow  for  the  death 
of  his  munificent  patron,  Lorenzo  de  Medici,  and 
while  fitting  to  his  harp  some  elegiac  verses  he 
had  composed  as  a  tribute  to  his  memory,  he 
suddenly  fell  from  a  high  flight  of  stairs,  and  re 
ceived  such  injury  that  he  expired.  He  died  at 
the  age  of  thirty-nine,  the  same  year  that  Amer 
ica  was  discovered.  Though  in  the  unwarned 
departure  of  these  poets  of  the  Tiber  and  the 
Rhine  there  is  some  resemblance,  the  contrast  is 
still  more  marked,  inasmuch  as  the  grief  and 
gratitude  of  earth  are  inferior  to  the  aspirations 
of  saintly  piety. 

The  circumstances  in  the  life  of  Herder  have 
always  been  interesting  to  me.  Self-made  men 
are  especially  so  to  us  Americans,  because  we 
have  so  many  among  us  who  have  thus  attained 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  337 

distinction.  The  poverty  of  liis  father  stimulated 
his  filial  heart  to  do  something  toward  his  own 
support.  He  sought  the  employment  of  copying 
for  his  minister,  who,  discerning  the  talents  of 
the  diligent  boy,  gave  him  gratuitous  instruction 
in  the  classics.  The  young  hand,  so  faithful  to 
make  every  written  character  true  and  clear, 
was  in  due  time  to  be  raised  in  the  dignified  ex 
planations  of  the  professor's  chair,  and  in  the 
strong  eloquence  of  the  pulpit,  where  he  received 
the  appointment  of  court  preacher.  As  an  au 
thor  as  well  as  theologian,  he  occupies  a  high 
place  in  the  literature  of  his  native  land.  His 
works  on  Nature  have  her  own  vividness  and  life  ; 
his  philosophy  breathes  a  hopeful  spirit;  and 
his  poetry  Jbears  the  varied  impress  of  genius. 
One  of  his  most  popular  volumes,  the  "Voices 
of  the  Nations,"  has  been  called  by  a  critic  from 
his  own  clime  the  "great  song-book  for  all  man 
kind."  From  the  Scandinavian  ices,  from  the 
sands  of  Arabia,  from  the  islands  of  the  sea,  from 
the  long-veiled  shores  of  the  Western  world,  he 
has  gathered  characteristic  harmonies,  opening  to 
the  ear  of  Germany  the  choral  heart  of  all  the 
world.  Among  those  lesser  lyrical  pieces  I  have 
been  pleased  with  the  tender  simplicity  of  an 
"Esthonian  Bridal  Song,"  which  thus  closes: 
P 


338  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL. 

"  Put  on  thy  head  the  band  of  duty, 
On  thy  forehead  the  band  of  care, 
Sit  thee  down  in  the  seat  of  thy  mother, 
"Walk  in  thy  mother's  footsteps  ; 
Yet  weep  not,  weep  not,  maiden  ! 
For  if  thou  weepest  in  thy  bridal  garments 
Thou  shalt  weep  all  thy  life." 


The  wise  monarch  of  Israel  spoke  to  me  this 
morning  as  I  perused  the  inspired  page,  and, 
among  other  sublime  teachings  of  the  Great  Be 
ing  whom  we  worship,  said, 

"  He  hath  made  every  thing  beautiful  in  its, 
time." 

Oh  God !  how  beautiful  is  earth, 

In  sunlight  or  in  shade, 
Her  forests  with  their  waving  arch, 

Her  flowers  that  gem  the  glade, 

Her  hillocks,  white  with  fleecy  flocks, 

Her  fields  with  grain  that  glow, 
Her  sparkling  rivers,  deep  and  broad, 

That  through  the  valleys  flow, 

Her  crested  waves  that  clasp  the  shore, 

And  lift  their  anthem  loud, 
Her  mountains,  with  their  solemn  brows, 

That  woo  the  yielding  cloud. 

Oh  God !  how  beautiful  is  life 

That  Thou  dost  lend  us  here, 
With  tinted  hopes  that  line  the  cloud, 

And  joys  that  gem  the  tear, 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  339 

With  cradle-hymns  of  mothers  young, 

And  tread  of  youthful  feet, 
That  scarce,  in  their  elastic  bound, 

Bow  down  the  grass-flowers  sweet, 

With  brightness  round  the  pilgrim's  staff, 

Who,  at  the  set  of  sun, 
Beholds  the  golden  gates  thrown  wide, 

And  all  his  work  well  done. 

But  if  this  earth,  which  changes  mar, 

This  life,  to  death  that  leads, 
Are  made  so  beautiful  by  Him 

From  whom  all  good  proceeds, 

How  glorious  must  that  region  be 

Where  all  the  pure  and  blest 
From  chance,  and  fear,  and  sorrow  free, 

Attain  eternal  rest. 


In  our  highest  requital  of  earthly  hope,  our 
fullest  measure  of  joy,  there  seems  to  me  a  hid 
den  proof  of  immortality.  We  are  still  conscious 
of  capacities  that  aspire  to  higher  gratification. 
Something  that  the  world  gives  not,  the  soul 
reaches  after.  Would  it  thus  reach  if  there  were 
nothing  beyond  ?  Would  He  who  so  wisely  and 
kindly  proportions  means  to  ends  have  implant 
ed  such  desires  if  there  were  no  state  of  existence 
in  which  they  could  be  satisfied  ? 

With  me,  the  argument  of  future,  unending  life 
is  not  derived  so  much  from  what  is  called  the 


340  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUKNAL. 

insufficiency,  the  infirmity  of  human  happiness, 
for  it  often  seems  as  if  our  finite  nature  could 
bear  no  more  than  is  here  given  us ;  but  from  a 
conviction  that  we  possess  innate  powers,  press 
ing  toward  a  larger  development,  for  which  this 
sphere  of  action  has  neither  space  or  permanence. 
What  can  I  ask  to  render  my  lot  of  happiness 
more  complete?  Nothing.  Nothing,  save  a  heart 
more  gratefully  and  intensely  to  appreciate  it. 
Yet  is  there  a  fixed  and  glorious  trust  of  a  high 
er  condition  of  being,  where,  through  the  merits 
of  the  Almighty  Intercessor,  the  cup  now  so  full 
shall  be  enlarged,  and  overflow  with  "  all  the  full 
ness  of  God." 


A  blessed  Sabbath  has  this  been.  The  em 
ployments  and  meditations  of  that  hallowed  sea 
son,  prized  from  early  life,  grew  more  and  more 
dear.  Their  tranquilizing,  sublimating  influence 
becomes  every  year  more  apparent.  Its  various 
departments,  in  the  closet,  the  family,  the  loved 
little  chapel,  impart  from  week  to  week  a  height 
ened  joy.  One  cause  may  be  the  reciprocity  in 
the  household.  My  mother's  time-tried  piety  is 
ever  an  example ;  my  husband  evidently  makes 
progress  in  the  Divine  life ;  every  one  under  our 
roof  concur,  according  to  their  ability,  in  calling 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUENAL.  341 

"the  Sabbath  a  delight,  the  holy  of  the  Lord, 
honorable."  Its  balm-drops  are  with  us  through 
out  the  week,  and,  ere  they  are  exhaled,  it  again 
returns. 


All  the  way  in  which  God  has  led  me  from  my 
birth  has  been  full  of  love.  All  the  discipline  I 
have  had  has  been  but  for  my  soul's  good.  Al 
ready  I  can  see  it  has  fitted  me  more  rationally 
to  enjoy  earth's  happiness.  Ever  in  view,  as  a 
consummation,  is  God's  reserved  happiness.  In 
the  glimpses  of  that  noontide  glory,  how  beauti 
ful  to  walk  through  this  silvery  moonlight  below, 
admiring  the  foundation  and  the  columns  of  the 
"temple  not  made  with  hands,"  catching  even 
in  its  vestibule  some  echo  of  its  high  celestial 
symphony,  "  Holy,  holy,  holy,  Lord  God  Al 
mighty,  heaven  and  earth  are  full  of  the  majesty 
of  Thy  glory." 


The  homeless  child,  the  unshelter'd  guest, 

Whom  thou  on  earth  didst  cheer, 
Perchance,  when  cares  no  more  infest, 
Shall  rise  in  Heaven  among  the  bless'd, 
And  greet  thee  to  that  realm  of  rest 
Which  sorrow  comes  not  near. 


342  LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOUKNAL. 

She  whose  intimacy  we  have  so  long  shared 
through  these  pages  thought  not  to  write  in  her 
journal,  "These  are  my  last  lines."  Prescience 
was  not  hers. 


He,  the  utterly  bereaved,  is  as  one  amazed — 
one  whom  God  hath  forsaken.  Ever  before  him, 
as  if  still  in  life,  is  an  image  paler  than  marble, 
the  upraised  eyes  beaming  with  ineffable  bright 
ness.  Ever  in  his  ear  are  the  last  faint  tones, 
like  a  harp's  cadence, 

"Beauty,  and  glory,  and  joy ! 
Come,  come,  beloved !" 

For  this  lightning  stroke  that  hath  scathed  him, 
for  the  blight  and  blackening  of  all  earthly  hope, 
what  we  call  language  hath  no  tint  nor  pencil. 

"Talk  not  of  grief  till  thou  hast  seen 
The  tears  of  bearded  men." 


Who  can  realize  that  to  her  home,  where  she 
was  the  tutelary  spirit  of  gladness,  she  returneth 
no  more  ?  Instead  of  that  sweet  voice,  the  echo 
of  the  soul's  harmony,  instead  of  the  holy  hymn 
at  morn  and  eventide,  is  the  wail  of  two  new-born 
infants,  left  by  the  angel  in  her  heavenward  flight. 


LUCY  HOWARD'S  JOURNAL.  343 

She,  with  the  few  threads  of  silver  in  her  hair, 
whose  loss  is  irreparable,  murmurs  not.  Her  lip 
trembles,  but  her  trust  is  above.  Where  her 
treasure  has  gone,  there  is  her  heart  also.  Ever 
wrapped  in  her  arms  or  clasped  to  her  bosom  is 
one  of  those  motherless  babes.  The  loving,  dark- 
browed  woman,  so  long  comprised  in  the  circle 
of  home-charities,  the  poor  forest  girl,  her  raven 
locks  disheveled  on  her  shoulders,  with  tears  per 
petually  dropping,  watch  over  the  other.  Help 
less,  unfledged  birds,  there  is  still  a  nest  of  love 
for  you. 


She  lingered  not  to  press  the  mother-kiss  on 
those  innocent  brows.  For  her  the  parting  scene 
had  no  terror.  She  saw  in  death  only  the  mo 
ment  when  the  soul  draws  near  to  its  Father,  the 
stream  returns  to  its  Source. 


THE    END. 


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